Imprint
by volley
Summary: You know that great scene in Season 4 where, back from the Romulan ship, Trip teases Malcolm and makes him believe he'll put him on report for disobeying his direct order? What if he did so because once in the past...
1. Chapter 1

Grateful thanks to SitaZ and RoaringMice for beta reading.

§ 1 §

"Get out of here, Lieutenant, that's an order!" The words were barked out in as military a fashion as Malcolm had ever heard from the genial Commander Tucker, and an undercurrent of alarm could be detected in them.

Malcolm bit his lip. "I'm not quite ready to leave you, Commander." His reply, in contrast, exuded his usual distinct calm.

Reed had long perfected the technique of keeping emotions out of his voice in order to project an image of poise, and now he put it to good use. S_moke and mirrors_, Malcolm thought with a silent snort: his innards actually felt like a block of hardened cement and adrenaline was coursing through his veins. But wasn't he good at misleading people into thinking that he had a higher than normal threshold for experiencing anxiety. In reality he felt fear like anyone else, it was just that he was able to clamp down on it, keeping an impassivity which allowed him to be cool under pressure. That's why he was good at his job, if he said so himself.

A frustrated groan floated out of Malcolm's communicator. "Don't be so damn pigheaded," Trip pressed. "It's enough that one of us is trapped and we can't get in touch with the ship. You need to inform the bridge. I'll still be here when you come back. I won't be goin' anywhere, Malcolm."

Malcolm felt that the use of his given name authorised him to be a little slack with form, so instead of replying he pursed his lips and moved his flashlight around once more to meticulously inspect the bulkhead that was separating him from his friend.

The medium-size vessel they had detected on the planet Enterprise was currently orbiting, and which they had been sent to investigate, was apparently abandoned; there was no indication that it had crashed or had been shot down. It had seemed innocuous enough and soon they had found their way to the engine room, where Trip had immediately and happily got absorbed in the alien technology there at his glorious disposal. But then, all of a sudden, that bloody bulkhead…

"Answer me, _Lieutenant_."

Reed flinched. Trip's voice was low but vibrated with anger. He raised his own comm. device in front of his mouth. "I'm not leaving alone, Commander," he said with stubborn resolve.

"I gave you an order!"

"With all due respect, I'm the Tactical Officer, and my opinion is that I shouldn't be leaving you behind. There _must_ be a way to open this bulkhead. Let's stop arguing and find it."

Reed knew that he should shut up and obey: Tucker was his commanding officer; but he was also his friend, and he thought he could take his chance at being a little out of line. Besides, his gut feeling told him that although they might not be in deep trouble now, they soon would be, and he wasn't prepared to leave Trip to face alone whatever threats this ship might throw at them.

Another frustrated sound came through his communicator, and Malcolm fleetingly pictured the fuming expression that must be on Trip's face before focussing all his attention on his task once again. All five senses on the alert, he inspected every inch of the wall that some fifteen minutes before had unexpectedly cut them off. He found nothing that would trigger the bloody thing open.

After a moment Trip's gruff voice made itself heard again. "There's nothin' here to…" Suddenly his words turned into a gasping sound.

"Commander, what's wrong?" Malcolm demanded, feeling his pulse rise.

The pause lasted only a few seconds but to Reed it felt like ages.

"I think I'm bein' scanned," Trip finally replied.

"Are you all right?" Malcolm asked in concern. Being scanned could be an invasive affair.

"Dammit, Lieutenant, do what I told you: get the hell out of here!" Trip barked again, command tone laced with anxiety.

A part of Malcolm's mind, the more rational one, knew that Trip was probably right. Inside this ship something was blocking their communications with Enterprise: the bridge was in the blind and ought to be informed of their status, especially since it looked like the vessel was not as abandoned as it had seemed. But his emotional self screamed that he'd better find a way to get Trip out of there ASAP or it might be too late. And as he tensely weighed his options it didn't take him long to realise which side would win in this battle.

"I'll try to cut through the bulkhead with my phase pistol, Commander," he said calmly into his communicator. "Stand back."

There was some kind of an answer, but Malcolm couldn't quite make it out. He thought it had the punch of a four-letter word. He stood back and set his pistol to the highest yield. No point wasting time. Five minutes later he re-holstered the weapon with a grunt.

"Not a chance," he said. "Our phase pistols are useless against this alloy."

Silence.

"Commander?"

_Damn!_ Malcolm felt another rush of adrenaline and gripped his communicator more tightly.

"Trip, can you read me?"

No answer. Banging his fist hard against the wall, Malcolm let lose with his own string of foul words, frustration and concern finally breaking his control. Suddenly, as if by magic, the partition began to slide open.

_With good manners…_

Reed frantically searched the small space with his flashlight, looking for something to block the door in case it decided to slide shut again, but he saw nothing that could do the job. He took a quick step inside the room. Trip lay slumped on the floor a few feet away, the beam of his fallen torch giving away his position. Fighting back the concern that they might both get trapped, Malcolm took another couple of steps. He froze when another beam suddenly materialised and zoomed on him. He felt a tingling sensation run through his body, not painful but far from pleasant, and he hesitated. The sight of Trip unconscious was a strong motivation to move, however, and trying to ignore his nerves he rushed to his friend's side.

"Trip!" Malcolm tensed as he felt for a pulse. The rhythm under his fingers was strong, and he blinked in relief. Without further delay, he grabbed the engineer and dragged him to the other side of the treacherous bulkhead.

"Trip, wake up!" _This is no time for a nap, Commander. _At least the scanning beam had disappeared, and he no longer felt as if he had ants crawling all over him.

No amount of shaking seemed to revive his friend, so Malcolm gripped one of his arms and, grunting with effort, lifted the bigger man onto his shoulders. Which way was the exit, now? Malcolm hesitated. Staggering under the weight, he took a few steps.

He was certain he had to take a right turn but then… The vessel was laid out like a labyrinth, a seemingly irrational criss-cross of corridors, each looking the same. Planting his feet firmly on the ground, he put his flashlight between his teeth and reached for his scanner to help him find his bearings. What he saw on his instrument made his blood run cold: the ship was coming alive. Still no biosigns that he could tell – thank God for that – but he was now reading several power signatures. He hadn't the faintest idea of what they were, and he wasn't really eager to find out.

Faint lights suddenly came on and Malcolm tensed, looking around him frantically. No one in sight – _no biosigns_, he reminded himself. Well, if the power signatures meant he could do without walking around with a torch in his mouth, they were more than welcome.

After a last quick glance at the scanner for directions, he turned the flashlight off and pocketed it, setting out on his way as fast as his burdened legs would allow him. Holding on to Trip meant that he only had one free hand, and now that he was pointed in the right way he put away the scanner and got out his communicator.

"Reed to Enterprise…" No answer – not that he had expected one, they were still too deep inside the ship.

He didn't know what set him off. But as he swerved abruptly and stumbled to crash hard against the wall, he thanked his Tactical Officer's sixth sense as a bluish beam vaguely resembling that of an Andorian phase weapon missed him by inches. This vessel, however, was definitely not Andorian.

Keeping close to the wall, he pocketed his communicator and reached for his phase pistol. He was beginning to feel more like a juggler than a Starfleet Officer, but he was determined not to let some automated system get the better of them.

This time he knew what alerted him: a barely audible humming sound. Malcolm turned towards its source and fired blindly; there was a small explosion as something smashed to pieces. The sound ceased.

He was congratulating himself on his reaction time, which he smugly thought had been more than acceptable given that he was slowed by Trip's extra weight, when the humming returned from another spot. He barely saw the beam flash out this time. Pain shot up his left leg as he was hit squarely, momentarily deprived of breath and balance.

A muffled cry escaped his lips and he wavered. Cursing, he spun around and shot back, again not quite sure at what. Once more, however, a small explosion ensued, which hopefully meant the firing device had been put out of business.

His muscles were tiring and his mind was getting fuzzy, so Malcolm allowed himself a moment of rest, leaning with his right shoulder against the wall. Breathing heavily, he glanced at his injured limb, grimacing at the sight of his charred uniform, just above the knee. _Lovely._

_Can't stop. _

Trip's dead weight was beginning to feel a bit too heavy, especially now that his balance was even more precarious, but Malcolm limped on, aware that safety was not too far away. Blinking quickly to clear his vision, now blurred by sweat and exhaustion, he visualised the path that lay ahead. _One left turn, then straight. _

He came to the next corner and peeked warily around it, ready for action. But of course the ship's defence system was probably set off by body heat, or movement. If it was by movement, as long as he stayed put it wouldn't reveal itself. However, if it was by body heat, he'd be dead in a second anyway, so… He leaned against the wall for another moment, to take some weight off his injured leg and bring his ragged breathing under control. Then with a grunt he pushed off and slowly ventured on.

No sooner had he turned the corner than something caught his eye. Aiming fast, he fired just as the bluish beam flashed towards him. The device exploded as violently as the pain in his right arm and he yelped as his pistol fell out of his hand, skidding with a clattering sound away from him.

_Damn!_

No matter, another few meters and they would be safe. Through the black spots that now danced in front of his eyes, Malcolm could in fact see the exterior hatch. Biting his lip against the pain in his leg, he let the momentum carry him forward, but at the very last moment stopped in his tracks: anyone designing a defence system would logically concentrate his attention on external accesses. Pain and fatigue had clouded his mind, and almost caused him to make a stupid and probably fatal mistake.

He let Trip slide gently off his shoulder to the ground and crouched down near him, hissing as his injured leg protested the abuse. Time to do what Mr. Tucker had insisted upon earlier: contact Enterprise.

His communicator was in the right leg pocket and Malcolm grimaced as he reached for it with his wounded arm. With an effort he got it out and flicked it open. "Reed to Enterprise…" he paged, annoyed at the hoarseness of his voice.

"Go ahead, Lieutenant," Archer replied a second later.

"We ran into trouble, Sir," Reed said, wishing it weren't so bloody difficult to speak.

"What kind of trouble?"

"The vessel has an automated defence system. Commander Tucker is unconscious and I am injured," he managed. "I am not certain I can get us to the pod without triggering further security devices. Requesting transport."

Archer's voice had a familiar edge to it when it came back. "Stand by; we're getting a lock on you."

Malcolm didn't even have the energy to mutter 'understood'. The world had suddenly started to spin rather fast and he found himself sitting on the ground. He leaned against the wall and let his head fall back, closing his eyes as he felt himself inevitably slipping into unconsciousness. He didn't fancy re-materialising on the transporter pad in an undignified, insentient heap, but there was little he could do to avoid the gaping maw of darkness. He vaguely heard Archer say something, but could neither make out the words nor find his voice to reply. A moan from Trip was the last sound he distinguished, and before yielding to oblivion his last coherent thought was 'Great timing, Commander'

* * *

"He got away, the defence system failed."

"Power levels are low, weapons were not as effective; and Subject Two was surprisingly strong-willed. But Subject One is all that matters to us, and the imprint won't fail."

"We have been waiting a long time for a suitable Subject."

"It won't fail."

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

§ 2 §

The jumble of sounds that, in an unrelenting crescendo, drew him out of his fuzziness was hardly alien, and Malcolm knew where he was – sickbay – even before he could put his thoughts together. Hoping he could fool Phlox and play unconscious for a tad longer, he kept perfectly still; he felt in no hurry to rejoin the real world. At least _this_ real world.

"A patient with your experience ought to know better than try such elementary and ineffective tricks, Lieutenant," Phlox's amused voice murmured, sounding quite close.

_So much for that_. Malcolm reluctantly cracked his eyes open, taking in the white, blurred image of the ceiling above him. "Never know when they might work," he slurred, not quite there yet.

A low chuckle floated his way from the left side of the bed and he slowly turned his head to it. Phlox, fiddling with the instruments monitoring him, gradually came into focus.

Malcolm heaved a resigned sigh. "What's the verdict, Doctor?" he enquired drowsily, knowing that sooner or later he'd have to ask.

"Ah, a trifle, for someone like you, Mr. Reed," Phlox replied in a low voice that held its usual note of uncalled-for cheerfulness. "Phase-weapon burns in your left leg and right arm. Not very serious ones, though, nothing my osmotic eels can't take care of."

Malcolm risked casting a glance at his right arm and smirked in disgust at the sight of what was stuck to it. No doubt another such creepy creature was feasting on his leg - not that he had any intention of making sure.

"But you'll have to rest," Phlox added, like a father warning his child that he'll have to do his homework.

"That's what I was afraid of," Malcolm said in a slightly stronger voice. He distractedly raised his left arm to rub his eyes but was immediately stopped by a resolute hand.

"Eh, eh, Lieutenant," Phlox warned. "You'll pull out your IV…"

Malcolm groaned his misery.

"Well, you and the Commander really should be a little more careful on away missions," Phlox said in a reproachful tone. "It's a wonder the Captain still lets you go together."

_Trip_…

Any remaining fuzziness in Malcolm's brain was instantly dispelled as he remembered how he had ended up lying flat on a bed in sickbay. His eyes flashed open and he tried to sit up, only to be restrained firmly again by the Doctor.

"Now, Mr. Reed, do I have to tie you down?" Phlox asked in a stern voice.

Malcolm fell back on his pillow, still a bit too scrambled to find his voice to protest. He watched as Phlox, satisfied that the message had been received, moved off to attend to his menagerie with a happy grin, causing an eruption of screeches and sounds that made Reed curse silently at the prospect of spending _any_ amount of time in that place.

Surreptitiously, he looked around, expecting to see Trip occupying 'his' biobed - the one next to him. When he realised the engineer was nowhere to be seen he tensed up, feeling a cold knot forming in his gut. But surely even Phlox wouldn't be _that_ cheerful if something had happened to Trip?

"Where is Commander Tucker?" he asked, raising his head to follow the Doctor's movements. "Is he all right?"

"Hmm?" Phlox, who was peering into one of his cages, glanced over his shoulder. "Oh, he's fine, not to worry," he exclaimed. "I released him."

"Doctor, the Commander was unconscious on that ship," Malcolm said tiredly, falling against his pillow again.

Phlox moved to another cage, lifted the lid and dropped some unidentifiable stuff into it. "Indeed, that's what he told me," he agreed. "Apparently he was scanned by a violet beam, and then a blinding flash stunned him and made him lose consciousness."

"And…?" Malcolm prompted weakly.

Phlox stopped and turned. "I checked him thoroughly, Lieutenant. He seems to be perfectly fine," he answered reassuringly. "Not in the best of moods, perhaps..."

Malcolm wanted to ask what exactly he meant by that, but didn't have the energy to do so. He closed his eyes, happy for the moment to give his worries a rest and relishing the feeling of tension gradually leaving his body. He barely heard Phlox pull the privacy curtain around his bed before nodding off.

* * *

Archer's brow was knit in a perplexed frown as he watched his Chief Engineer pace his ready room, and listened to his ranting.

"He disregarded a direct order twice, Capt'n," Trip was saying, his face set in anger.

"Trip, he got you out of there in one piece," Archer replied, tilting his head.

"That's not the point!" Trip countered, clenching and unclenching his hands in an unconscious gesture. "Can't you see that?"

"What's wrong with you, Trip?" Archer said, with a grimace of incredulity. "I can't believe you want to file a report on Malcolm. Frankly, it's a bit harsh, considering he's your friend, and a friend who risked his life to bring you back to safety."

Trip stopped pacing and turned to face Archer. "We could've both been killed," he replied cuttingly. "It was just luck that we got back more or less in one piece. He should've contacted Enterprise and gotten help when I ordered him to, and he probably wouldn't be lyin' in sickbay now," he insisted irritably. "Malcolm's been complainin' about the lack of discipline on board since day one: it's time someone showed him that the rules also apply to him," he concluded, finally dropping to sit on a chair, seemingly exhausted.

Even after a full minute of silence, Archer's grimace was still plastered on his face. _What the hell happened on that planet?_ he silently wondered. He had never seen Trip this determined to punish someone under his command, let alone someone who had become a close friend.

"I can't deny you the right to put him on report, if that's what you really want," he finally said, studying his friend. "But I urge you to reconsider. Let off steam, sleep over it, and we'll talk about it again tomorrow morning."

"Capt'n…" Trip started, but was cut off by the comm.

"Phlox to Captain Archer."

Archer sat straighter in his chair and reached over his desk to open the link. "Go ahead, Doctor."

"I thought you should know that Lieutenant Reed has regained consciousness," Phlox's voice reported.

"Thank you, Doc. I'm on my way," Archer said, locking his gaze with Trip's and reading unfamiliar resentment in the engineer's normally clear blue eyes. "You coming?" he asked as he got up.

As he had half expected, Trip shook his head in denial. "You go," he said bitterly. "He probably needs to rest, anyway – the fewer visits, the better."

Archer sighed. "I'll say hello for you," he offered, triggering the door open.

"Yeah, you do that," Trip replied, his tone giving a nasty meaning to the words.

TBC


	3. Chapter 3

§ 3 §

Archer took his time walking to sickbay, and used it to replay in his mind the conversation he had just had with his Chief Engineer. He couldn't believe Trip wanted to file an insubordination report on Reed; not only would such an action be outright cruel, considering that Malcolm might well have saved Trip's life on that ship, but it also seemed totally out of character for the usually kind and informal man he knew Trip to be. Archer narrowed his eyes in thought as he triggered the door to sickbay. Something was definitely wrong, but perhaps talking to Malcolm would help him understand.

"Captain," Phlox greeted him, coming to meet him in his slightly swinging walk.

Archer gave him a quick grin in reply. "How's Malcolm?" he asked.

"Ah, he'll be fine; his injuries are not serious," Phlox replied reassuringly. "He'll have to rest, which is always a challenge whenever Mr. Reed is involved, but he should recover quite fast."

"That's good to hear," Archer said with a sigh of relief. "I'd like to speak to him."

Phlox glanced towards a biobed hidden by a privacy curtain. "Go ahead, Captain, but please keep the visit short." As Archer was moving off he called out, "You may find him a little sluggish - a normal reaction to injury and medication, of course."

At the rustling sound of the curtain being pulled, Reed's eyes flashed open and his head turned. _So much for being sluggish_, Archer mulled with a touch of amusement.

"Captain…"

His voice on the other hand, did sound a little thick.

"Lieutenant," Archer replied, relaxing his face in a small smile. "Enjoying your stay?"

The words elicited a smirk, in which the Captain read self-loathing, misery and physical discomfort. "Doc says you'll be fine again in no time," he said in a lifting tone, trying to fight off the urge to grimace in disgust at the sight of the pulsing creature on Reed's arm.

Reed fleetingly met his eyes before replying, "Yes, it appears so, Sir." He sounded glum. "I'm sorry about this, Captain."

Archer wondered if he was referring to the botched mission or his forced vacation in Phloxland.

Raising his gaze, Malcolm added, "I was relieved to hear that Commander Tucker is all right; I imagine he has given you a report of what happened."

It was Archer's turn to break eye contact. He pursed his lips and collected his thoughts. When he looked at Malcolm again, he saw that a puzzled frown had appeared on his face.

"Commander Tucker is pretty angry with you, Lieutenant," Archer said gently, but pinning the Armoury Officer with his gaze. Malcolm's facial muscles tensed, but his eyes remained steadily locked with his.

"The Commander has every right to be, Sir," he said gravely. "It is my duty to anticipate and prevent trouble." He blinked. "In my defence I can only say that things happened very fast. That bulkhead cut us off in a matter of seconds." Shaking his head, he added in a hollow voice, "By the time I realised what was happening, there was nothing I could do to stop it."

Archer let silence stretch for a moment, even though he knew it would hardly help Reed relax. But suddenly he didn't know what to say. He should have known this was what Malcolm would understand, that he wouldn't suspect Trip was mad at him for disobeying his orders. Perhaps it wasn't such a good idea to discuss the matter now; after all, Trip would in all likelihood cool down and forget about it. Archer, however, was curious to hear Reed's account of the facts.

"That's not what Trip is angry about, Malcolm," he finally drew out, realising as he was speaking that he had unconsciously dropped the 'Lieutenant'. Why was he suddenly feeling protective towards his Armoury Officer? He looked at Malcolm. He couldn't deny that there were many aspects of Reed's personality that annoyed him greatly. He was damn stubborn, obsessively appropriate, and extremely cold at times.

But he also knew that the man was exceedingly loyal to the Enterprise crew. He carried out his job with professionalism and a higher than expected sense of self-sacrifice. That last quality in particular - Archer mulled - was why Trip's determination to put him on report really rubbed him the wrong way, bringing out his paternal instincts.

Refocusing his thoughts and gaze on the present, he found Reed's eyes on him, confusion clear on his face. "Sir, I'm afraid I don't quite understand…" the Lieutenant murmured.

"Commander Tucker says you were insubordinate… disregarded his direct order twice," Archer finally explained. "He seems bent on putting you on report," he added, regretting it the moment he saw Malcolm's features subtly reshape. The revelation had hurt him.

Reed's mouth twitched imperceptibly downwards. "It is true, Captain," he admitted after a moment.

"Why?" Archer just asked. Seeing his hesitation, he added, "Malcolm, I simply want to hear your version of the facts."

Reed closed his eyes and Archer suddenly realised the man might well be 'fine soon' but wasn't exactly well now. What the hell was he thinking, questioning him like this and adding to his miseries? Reed had re-materialised injured and unconscious on the transporter pad less than a couple of hours before. His pale face was a stark reminder of that.

"I'm sorry," Archer quickly amended, touching Reed's arm lightly. "You need to rest; this can wait."

"Captain…" Malcolm's eyes flashed open again.

Archer shook his head. "I should go, before Phlox gives me hell," he said with a small smile. "I'll come back tomorrow."

"Captain, please… Let me explain," Reed feebly insisted.

Archer wavered. Knowing Malcolm's tendency to brood, perhaps he _should_ stop to listen.

"All right, Lieutenant."

Reed seemed relieved. "We hadn't picked up any biosigns," he started. "The ship looked empty and dark: no energy… at least at that point. When that bulkhead slid shut and separated us, it… just happened out of the blue. We tried to open it again, of course, but without luck. After a while Commander Tucker ordered me to get out and contact Enterprise – inside the vessel something was blocking communications. But…" Reed paused, and for a moment only his breathing and the soft beeps of the monitoring equipment could be heard. "I had a gut feeling I shouldn't leave the Commander alone," he finally finished. "I… followed my instincts, Sir."

Archer didn't know what to say. Reed's instincts were notoriously reliable and he had long learnt to trust them himself.

"Commander Tucker ordered me to leave twice, and twice I disobeyed him; but I still think I did the right thing, Captain," Reed added, straining to speak now and closing his eyes again.

"Captain," another voice, this one strong and more than a little irritated, echoed. "My patient needs to rest."

"I apologise, Sir," Reed slurred, sounding as if he was drifting off.

Archer touched Reed's arm again and saw his eyes crack open. "Don't worry about it now, Malcolm," the Captain said gently, getting ready to leave. "Just rest and get better."

* * *

"Come." Archer turned away from the porthole and the splendid sight of the blue-green planet they were orbiting, and faced his ready-room's door, which slid open to admit his Science Officer and Chief Engineer.

"Good morning," he greeted them. As they both greeted back, Archer went to sit down at his desk, taking a moment to study Trip before speaking. Night might be the mother of counsel, but his friend's face still seemed set in stone.

He addressed T'Pol. "Have you been able to find anything out about that ship?"

"I'm afraid not, Captain," she replied, hands locked behind her back. "Our sensors are still unable to penetrate it."

"We should go down with another landing party, Capt'n," Trip butted in, in a determined voice. "There is definitely somethin' to learn from that alien technology, and we can't let this chance go by. Lieutenant Reed detected power signatures and…"

"You went to visit Malcolm?" Archer interrupted in surprise.

Trip frowned but didn't avert his gaze. "I didn't say that," he replied tersely.

"Then how do you know he detected power signatures?" Archer asked after a beat. "You were unconscious on that ship and Malcolm hasn't written a report yet." He saw T'Pol raise her eyebrows, probably impressed by his logic. _There is a first time for everything_, he mulled with a touch of amusement.

Trip opened his mouth, but it took him a moment to speak. "Well, it's pretty obvious, isn't it?" he finally reasoned. "You told me he said the ship had an automated defence system… we were fired upon… and that damn bulkhead did slide shut – so there must've been _some_ energy!"

"Hmm," Archer replied thoughtfully as he watched his First Officer's eyebrows go even higher. Today even Trip was giving lectures on logic…

"Captain," T'Pol suddenly said. "I strongly caution against sending another away party until we are able to determine what possible risks our people may be facing."

Trip rolled his eyes and huffed. "T'Pol, will you ever support _a single_ away mission?" he asked in irritation. "We know the ship has a defence system: we'll go prepared this time."

"Prepared for what, Commander?" the Vulcan replied unfazed. "We simply do not know what other dangers may await us."

"We are explorers, for heaven's sake! We can't expect to discover anything without taking _any_ risks!"

"The risks in this case far outweigh our need to explore."

Archer had been shifting his gaze back and forth from T'Pol to Trip like someone watching a tennis match. Now he decided it was time to assert his authority; he knew from experience that these two particular members of his crew could engage in lengthy discussions due to their diverging views on things, and he didn't want the argument to escalate.

"T'Pol is right, Trip," he cut in decisively. "I'm not willing to place any more people in danger unless our sensors start penetrating that ship's hull and we get a more precise idea of what we'll be facing." He saw his Chief Engineer's jaw clench.

"Don't forget we have a shuttlepod to retrieve," Trip said bluntly.

Archer glared at him. "Thank you for reminding me, Commander"

He turned to T'Pol. "We'll stay in orbit for another few hours. If by then our sensors are still unable to take any readings we'll just get our pod back and be on our way. Dismissed."

T'Pol nodded and turned to leave without another word, studiously avoiding Trip's glare. The engineer made to follow her but Archer stopped him.

"One more thing, Trip," he called to him. He waited until the door had swished closed again. "Have you reconsidered your position regarding Malcolm?" he asked outright.

Trip's jaw jutted out. "You really want me to let him off the hook, don't ya?" he all but exploded.

Archer felt a flare of irritation but kept it bottled up. "Malcolm has admitted to having disobeyed you, and apologised," he replied levelly.

"Charmin'" Trip sneered.

"You're out of line, Commander," Archer warned, feeling his patience running thin.

"I apologise, Capt'n," Trip said coldly. "But if everyone on this ship disregarded orders it would be complete chaos. I'm sure you can see that."

Archer shook his head. "What the hell is wrong with you, Trip?" he asked hoarsely, more in disbelief than anger. "You haven't even visited Malcolm - or asked how he is. He's your friend, for heaven's sake! This is just not like you..."

Trip passed a nervous hand through his short hair. "I'm mad at him," he replied tersely. He was about to add something, when a voice floated out of the comm. link.

"Engineering to Commander Tucker."

Trip reached out over Archer's desk. "Go ahead."

"Sir, we need you down here," Hess said. "The last engine system check is showing problems."

"I'm on my way." Trip replied. Before leaving he turned to his CO. "Sorry Capt'n, but duty calls."

There was a smile on his lips but it wasn't one of Trips' usual winning grins, and it only added to Archer's disquiet. "Keep me posted," the Captain replied sullenly. He could barely recognise his friend in the unfeeling and obstinate-looking character who was disappearing through the door.

TBC


	4. Chapter 4

§ 4 §

"I can't understand it, Chief; everything was running perfectly fine and all of a sudden we get this… this mess!" Hess looked puzzled and frustrated as she showed Trip the results of her recent system check. "We haven't even gone anywhere. We've been orbiting this God-forsaken planet the whole time!"

Trip frowned as he studied the padd Hess had handed him. "This can't be right," he murmured. "Levels are completely off…"

"I ran the check twice, Sir," Hess said, shaking her head.

Trip smirked. "Well, we certainly can't go anywhere now, even if we wanted to. The warp field would never hold…" He huffed. "It's going to take at least a day to set things right again."

"What I don't understand is how it could have happened," Hess said, a pensive expression clouding her pretty face. "Levels just don't go off on their own when the warp drive is not in use," she added softly as if to herself.

Trip narrowed his eyes. "What's that supposed to mean?" he asked.

Hess turned her startled gaze on him. "I… Nothing, Sir," she faltered. Then she found her voice again. "But I suppose we shouldn't dismiss the possibility that someone tampered with the system."

They looked at each other in silence for a moment.

"I need to inform the Captain," Trip finally said. He made as if to leave then stopped. "I think we oughtta keep this to ourselves, at least for now," he suggested.

Hess's face reshaped to a concerned expression. "Aye, Sir," she replied.

Trip pursed his lips. "Get to work," he told his SIC. "I'll be back as soon as I can."

* * *

At the sound of the lift opening Archer turned from the Captain's chair to see who it was there. He hadn't expected to see Trip again so soon, so he looked at him with a mute question in his eyes.

"Capt'n, I need to speak to you," Trip said. He looked upset. Before Archer could ask him anything, he added, "I think it would be best if T'Pol were present too."

Archer's eyebrows dove and met in a frown. Nodding, he rose without a word, with T'Pol following suit. They all headed to Archer's ready room, under the curious gazes of Hoshi and Travis.

"How long will it take to fix the problem?" Archer was asking his Chief Engineer a few minutes later.

"One day, minimum," Trip replied.

Archer gave a lopsided smirk and turned to T'Pol. "It looks like you'll have some time to study that damn ship, after all," he said.

T'Pol put on her Vulcan concerned expression. "Captain, there is no reason for levels to go off when the warp drive is not in use," she said.

Trip passed a hand through his hair, messing it up. "That's what Hess pointed out too," he murmured, with a meaningful glance at the Science Officer. "And of course I agree."

Archer shifted his gaze from one to the other. "What are you getting at," he asked with a frown. "Are you suggesting that someone _threw_ them off?"

"It would be the logical explanation," T'Pol replied with her typical poise.

This was just a bit too much; the irritation that had been simmering in Archer's gut for the past few hours suddenly came to boiling point and overflowed. "It may be _logical_ but it doesn't make any _sense_!" he growled.

T'Pol tilted her head in slight puzzlement, and the Captain suddenly realised that it was his words which made no sense. He counted to five. "I mean," he added more calmly, "That I'm not quite ready to believe there is a saboteur among the crew."

"Capt'n, I'm not either," Trip stressed. "But that's not the only possible explanation." He pulled a face. "Think about it, we've run into more than our share of strange occurrences out here."

Archer paced the small room in silence, ducking his head under the bulkheads. Movement had always helped him think. Trip was right. One never knew what to expect in space. He stopped and reached for the comm. link.

"Archer to sickbay." Raising his eyes on Trip, he saw the man's brow furrow.

"Phlox here."

"How's Malcolm this morning, Doc?" Archer enquired outright.

"Oh, he's much better, Captain," Phlox replied gleefully. "Thanks to my osmotic eels, I might add. They are well-fed now - I won't have to give them anything for several days," he added with a chuckle.

"Good," Archer replied, flinching at the mental image. "I need to speak to him."

"Ah, Captain," Phlox hurried to say. "You will find him in his quarters. You know Mr. Reed." He sounded frustrated. "It takes a lot more than a couple of burns to keep him in sickbay. But I negotiated a couple of days' rest."

"Thank you, Doctor."

Archer cut the communication and turned to his officers. "Trip, get down to Engineering and start straightening that mess out. T'Pol, check internal sensors for any sign of intruders; let me know what you find. I'll go talk to Malcolm. Dismissed."

Before leaving, T'Pol added, "It would be wise to keep our suspicions to ourselves." Her gaze shifted to Trip, who rolled his eyes.

"Why are you lookin' at me as if I'm gonna spill the beans the moment I leave this room?" he spat out. "That's exactly what I told Hess too!"

Archer felt his patience wearing thin again. "All right, you two, that's enough," he said warningly. "Let's get going, shall we?"

* * *

Malcolm was going nuts. Fine, he had got out of sickbay – and that in itself was no small victory; but now he found himself confined to his quarters with the strict order to rest, and the idea was plain depressing. No - more than depressing, it was driving him crazy.

Leaning with his left hand on the sink of his small bathroom he looked up at his reflection in the mirror. The man who gazed back at him was not the Lieutenant Malcolm Reed of whom he sometimes felt proud in a secret corner of his heart. Unable to hold his own eyes, he turned away and hobbled back to his bedroom.

It had been two hours since Phlox had detached those slimy creatures from his limbs and reluctantly released him. Two long hours in which he had been at the mercy of his mind and its tormenting thoughts. Ironically, his freedom was proving more insufferable than captivity in sickbay, and he was beginning to regret leaving the place. Although Phlox's chatting and the sounds of his menagerie could be annoying, they'd been blessedly distracting.

Malcolm paced his quarters, limping up and down. Rest! How could he rest when he felt absolutely restless! The old malaise was gnawing at him again, the one he knew so well, the one that had nested within him up until Enterprise. He had thought, had hoped, to have finally left it behind, back on Earth. Perhaps that was why he had taken to the stars: to escape it. How naïve of him. He could never run away from something of which he himself was the cause.

It was that feeling of void that came with the realisation that something precious had shattered, that someone he cared for had turned away in disappointment, and that the reason for all that was that he had failed. He had failed to be the strong child his father had wanted, failed to be the complying son his parents had expected him to be, failed to be the committed partner many girlfriends had sought in him, and now he had even failed in the one thing in which he'd truly desired to succeed, his duty as an officer.

But there was something wickedly new to the old malaise; a subtle new twist made it all the more painful to bear. It was a sense of let-down. Wrong as he may well have been, Malcolm knew he had failed his duty to help a friend, and now he just couldn't shake off the notion that Trip thought very little of their friendship.

His door bell rang and Malcolm was startled out of his grim reflections. He turned towards the sound and hesitated a long moment, afraid to answer it. He hadn't seen Trip since he had passed out on that ship – he had become convinced the man was so disappointed in him that he didn't even want to see him. Should the person on the other side of the bulkhead be indeed CommanderTucker … his feelings were too scrambled right now, he wasn't sure _he_, Malcolm, wanted to see _him, _Trip.

"Lieutenant, are you awake?" The muffled voice had no Southern ring to it, and Malcolm heaved a sigh of relief.

"Sir," Reed mumbled in surprise after he had opened the door and found his Captain waiting outside.

"I hope I didn't wake you," Archer replied, his gaze showing a curious mixture of embarrassment and concern. "Phlox said you were better, and I need to talk to you."

"I wasn't resting, Captain," Reed replied a bit too fast.

Archer's face betrayed gentle amusement. "I won't tell that to Phlox," he said.

"I wasn't _sleeping_," Malcolm self-consciously rephrased. A brief moment of silence passed between them before Reed realised that he was blocking the man's entrance. He quickly limped aside. "Please come in, Sir."

Malcolm watched Archer enter and look briefly around, then hobbled to his desk and pulled out the chair for him. "Would you like to have a seat, Captain?"

Archer seemed ready to decline but then thought better of it. "All right," he said, sitting down. "But you too – and that's an order," he automatically tailed.

Malcolm unconsciously tensed up, sending pain shooting through his injured limbs. He supposed it would be a while before those three little words stopped making his body clench. As he obediently and gingerly lowered himself on the bed he saw Archer frown almost imperceptibly and study him.

Reed knew the Captain was a sensitive person, well-attuned to his crewmen's problems and needs; he had no illusions about his suffering, physical and non, being etched on his face right now, so he lowered his gaze and spoke up before Archer had a chance to do so himself.

"You said you needed to talk to me, Captain?"

He mentally crossed his fingers, hoping the topic of their conversation would be professional rather than personal. He was hurting too much right now to share that hurt with anyone, let alone his CO.

"I do, Lieutenant."

The use of his rank was reassuring, so Malcolm risked raising his gaze again.

"We may have a security issue," Archer said, turning quite serious.

The relief of finding he wasn't the subject of the discussion mixed with the worry the words aroused. "Sir?" Malcolm enquired, frowning.

"Commander Tucker's last engine system check was completely off."

Archer had said 'Commander Tucker' in a cold voice, as if even his own friendship with the man were under strain. Malcolm swallowed hard, his emotions making him unfocussed. "I'm afraid I don't quite understand…" he murmured.

"It's unlikely, in fact, virtually impossible, for levels to go _that_ berserk on their own." Archer made a gesture with his hand, palm up. "Especially with the warp drive not in use."

"Do you suspect someone on board?" Malcolm asked, recovering some of his deductive reasoning.

"We cannot exclude it. But I don't need to remind you that we have seen some pretty weird things happen out here," Archer said gravely. "I'm having T'Pol run a check with internal sensors."

"Sir," Reed said after a moment of thought, not daring to heed the small but fast-growing hope that Archer might liberate him from his seclusion. "I… can't do much from my quarters."

Archer heaved a deep breath. His eyes wandered to Malcolm's injured right arm before returning to his face. "How are you doing, Lieutenant?" he enquired. "And I won't take _fine_ for an answer," he hastened to warn.

That, of course, was exactly what had been on the tip of Reed's tongue, and for a moment he was left with his mouth gaping. As he racked his brain to find an acceptable answer, he read light amusement on the other man's features.

"Captain," he said. "Surely you must know how I feel? That time when you were injured on Rigel 10 you too received treatment with the Doctor's osmotic eel; and a mere six hours later, if I recall, you were able to resume your post..."

Archer lifted his brows, green eyes twinkling. "I had only received _one_ wound…"

"That is true, Sir. But it's been…" Malcolm made a fast mental calculation, "…Almost twenty hours since I was put in the Doctor's care, and I had more than one treatment," he countered with quiet determination.

Archer let out a soft chuckle. "That was clever, Mr. Reed," he said, shaking his head. He pursed his lips and his eyes wandered over Malcolm as if he was weighing just how bad a shape he was in.

"All right, I'll talk to Phlox," he finally conceded.

Malcolm felt a flicker of hope. The Captain rose, and he immediately followed suit, stifling a groan as he put weight on his bad leg. It wouldn't do to ruin his good performance.

Still Archer hesitated. "How are you doing otherwise, Malcolm?" he enquired directly, thought the tone was gentle.

Reed cringed. This was what he had feared. He wasn't ready to discuss his feelings. He didn't want anyone's pity. Yet against his own will he found himself replying in truth.

"I've been better, Sir."

"Yeah," Archer just said. There was a pause. "The sooner you get out of here the sooner you'll have to clear the air with Commander Tucker," he added. "Think you're up to that?"

Reed's eyes hardened. "There is nothing to clear, Sir. The Commander did what he had to do," he replied flatly, despising himself as he spoke, for deep down he knew that this time that was hardly the truth.

Archer was looking at him in a way that said 'don't you think you can fool me', so he added, almost angrily, "I am a military man, Captain. Raised in a military family. I am used to strict discipline. I'll be fine."

_Fine_. There was that word again. The one he had been trained since childhood to say while he slipped on the impenetrable mask. The bloody Reed lie. He wouldn't quite be _fine_ seeing Trip, talking to him, working with him. But the important thing was not to admit it, wasn't it? To hide it even from oneself, in the best Reed tradition.

Archer didn't look very convinced, but nodded and walked to the door. Before letting himself out he turned once again. "If you ever feel the need to talk, you know where to find me," he said quietly.

"Thank you, Sir," Reed managed after a moment of awkward silence and past a surprising lump in his throat. So the Reed lie hadn't quite worked this time, it seemed. Not with this man.

* * *

"Something is wrong."

"Nothing is wrong. Give it time."

"No, we must do something. We can't afford to waste this opportunity. It might never come again. We must lower the shielding."

"That is dangerous, and you know it."

"We shall _lower_ the shielding; not _drop_ it."

"We should wait longer, before risking being exposed."

"What we risk is to remain here forever."

TBC


	5. Chapter 5

§ 5 §

Trip punched the buttons on his console with unnecessary force. Damn! He couldn't remember when the last time was that the warp drive had been such a complete mess.

He generally liked a good challenge, but not today. Today he was fidgety and nervous, and if he was at all honest with himself he couldn't care less about recalibrating and fine-tuning. Hell, Hess and the rest of his engineering people could do that. It wasn't as if they didn't have the proper training. What he really _wanted_ to do was to beam down to that ship and bury himself in alien technology. He'd always been a curious person, and another vessel's engine room held an almost irresistible attraction.

The memory of the ship made his mind wander to Malcolm, and he felt an immediate flare of irritation. Reed had really stepped over the line this time. No matter what the Captain said, Malcolm had messed up big; he had almost got them both killed. Reed should've obeyed his orders like the good little soldier he pretended to be; if he had gone to get help, they might know everything about that ship's engine by now.

"Chief, we're making good progress," a cheerful voice said behind him, shaking him out of his thoughts.

Trip turned to see Anna Hess smiling at him, one outstretched hand holding a data padd. He smirked and grabbed it without much grace, noticing out of the corner of his eye Hess's face fall.

_Well, too bad. I'm in a bad mood, ok? Can't always expect me to be all smiles._

"Good," he grumbled, glancing at the data.

"If things keep going this well we will be able to have warp drive much sooner than expected," Hess said, and Trip heard in her voice a strained chirpiness, as if she was trying to lift his mood.

"Great," he drawled.

There was a moment of silence.

"Commander, are you all right?" Hess ventured to ask.

Trip briefly thought of T'Pol and her Vulcan impassivity. All that control of one's emotions must be terrific at times like this.

"Yeah, sure, just a bit tired," he replied flatly. "Keep up the good work," he added, handing her back the padd.

Hess took it and left, seemingly relieved to get away from him, and Trip turned back to his console. What Hess had said was true, they were getting things back to normal at unbelievable speed; his people were a fine group of engineers. But the other side of the coin was that as soon as things were fixed the Captain might just decide to get their Shuttlepod back and leave. When they had last discussed the matter, he didn't seem at all ready to investigate that ship any further. And that really bugged him. He just couldn't stand to let an opportunity like this pass. Damn! He punched a few more keys.

Suddenly a loud siren sounded. He heard a small explosion and turned just in time to see fire erupting from a panel.

"Mike!"

Rostov was writhing on the ground, curled in a tight ball. In a few strides Trip was beside him and a moment later was dragging him away, while an ensign had grabbed an extinguisher and was putting out the flames.

"Someone call sickbay," Trip shouted, kneeling down near the fallen man.

* * *

"Archer to Engineering."

"Tucker." The voice sounded somewhat out of breath.

"What's going on, Commander? T'Pol tells me she read a sudden power surge."

"Aye, Sir. There was an overload in the impulse manifold and..."

"And?" Archer prompted, even though he was not sure he wanted to hear the answer.

"I'm sorry Capt'n," Trip replied. "But from the look of things impulse drive might be temporarily out of business."

Archer cursed silently.

"Rostov's been taken to sickbay," Trip added worriedly. "He got his right arm and shoulder scorched pretty badly."

Archer cursed some more. "I'll be right there," he said tersely. He shot up from his ready room chair and took a step towards the door, but stopped abruptly. With a grimace, he turned to reach for the comm. link again.

"Archer to Reed."

"Reed here."

Malcolm's reply had been almost instantaneous, and Archer suspected he'd been anxiously hovering about his desk, waiting for this call.

"I spoke to Phlox, Lieutenant. You're clear."

"Thank you, Captain."

Archer sighed. He wasn't sure Reed would feel quite as grateful and relieved when he heard what came next. "Meet me in Engineering, Malcolm. There was an accident."

After a brief pause Reed's hollow voice floated out again.

"Did anybody get hurt?"

"Ensign Rostov."

"I'll be right there, Sir."

* * *

"…I just can't say yet, Capt'n. But give me some of time and I'll get you the answer."

As Malcolm opened the hatch to Engineering, he could hear Trip's voice. He took a deep breath to steel himself and went in, determined to bring along only the cool and collected Lieutenant Reed, Chief of Security, and leave Malcolm behind. '_I have no need of friendship, friendship causes pain…' _- what a time to have old tunes running through one's brain, he mulled, angrily pushing the song aside.

A small group of people were gathered at the foot of the elevated platform in front of the warp engine, but only one head turned his way, namely that of Subcommander T'Pol, her fine hearing having undoubtedly alerted her to his arrival. As he approached, awkwardly trying to minimise his limping, she locked gaze with him. Her large, brown eyes never left his, and if at other times he might have felt embarrassed to be the object of her keen scrutiny, now he found himself drawing strength from the Vulcan officer's confident gaze. Finally the others also became aware of his presence. Malcolm nodded in a comprehensive greeting, his eyes shifting to Archer, Hess and then finally to Trip, who met his gaze unflinchingly.

"Staged your usual escape from sickbay and your quarters, Lieutenant?" Trip enquired. The words were something the engineer would have normally said to him with a grin on his face, but today his tone was far from playful.

Malcolm saw Archer frown and open his mouth, but anticipated him. He could fend for himself, dammit! Didn't need another father – not that the one on Earth would ever take his defence.

"Strange as it may seem, Commander, the Doctor actually gave me the green light," he replied with icy politeness, forcing himself to hold Trip's gaze.

He sensed puzzlement in the people around them; everyone on the ship knew of their friendly skirmishes, yet here they were, throwing each other words that might have been daggers. But he couldn't say he cared much about what people thought right now; he felt oddly numb, as if his self had decided that it had had enough of hurting and had found some way to get anesthetised.

This time Archer spoke before either of them could, and Reed shifted his eyes to him. "Lieutenant, there has been an inexplicable overload in the impulse manifold," he said. "A fire ensued and the impulse drive has been damaged."

Reed took in the information and turned to Tucker again, crossing his arms over his chest in spite of his sore right limb. "Who was working in Engineering when it happened?" he asked.

Trip regarded him with that slightly sardonic look of his which Malcolm many a time had found quite amusing but now, on the receiving end, felt as cutting as a blade.

"I was," Trip replied levelly. "Along with Hess, Rostov and half a dozen other people." He gave a mirthless huff of a laugh. "You probably don't know this, _Lieutenant_, but half of the engineering complement of this crew has been workin' their butts off tryin' to get a completely screwed-up warp system back to normal, so that we'd be good to fly again."

"Lieutenant Reed has been apprised of the situation, Commander," Archer cut in sternly. "I informed him personally and would appreciate if you gave him your full collaboration."

Trip gave the Captain a lopsided smirk. "Aye, Sir," he said, sounding, to his credit, somewhat regretful.

"Good," Archer commented, looking at him pointedly. He turned to Malcolm. "Keep me posted, Mr. Reed."

"Yes, Sir." Malcolm nodded and watched him leave.

T'Pol started to follow the Captain. "Subcommander," Reed stopped her. She turned, and Malcolm closed the short space between them. "The Captain told me you were going to run an internal sensors' check. Anything?" he enquired.

She tilted her head. "No, Lieutenant. Or I would have told you."

"Of course," Malcolm replied sheepishly.

She seemed hesitant to leave. "Let me know if I can be of any help," she said, and her voice had a soft edge of concern that only those who knew her well would detect. Reed did, and he had no doubt Trip had noticed it too.

After the hatch door had closed behind her, Malcolm reluctantly turned to the Chief Engineer. Tucker was leaning with his shoulders against the platform ladder, arms crossed over his chest, waiting for him to speak.

"I'd like us to go over the logs, check what everyone was doing when the overload occurred," Malcolm said, as neutrally as he could.

"_Us_?" Trip asked, raising his eyebrows. He snorted. "Aren't you here in your capacity of Security Officer? I thought I was a suspect here."

Malcolm felt the numbness give way to hurt again, and then to a sudden surge of anger. Hell, what were they doing biting each other off like that? They were friends! This nonsense had to stop, he had to try and make it. He bit the inside of his cheek and looked around to make sure they had enough privacy.

"Trip, I'm sorry, all right?" he said in a low, vibrant voice. He saw the engineer purse his lips in a stubborn expression, and Malcolm clenched his jaw. He desperately wanted to fix what he had broken.

"I shouldn't have disobeyed your orders down there; but please believe me when I say that I wasn't trying to challenge your authority… Can't you see? I just wanted to get us both out in one piece."

He knew as he was speaking that it wasn't working – his tone was all wrong, he wasn't managing to keep the resentment out of his voice. He'd never been good at apologies. Not with his father, not with his girlfriends, and now not with his best friend.

Something flashed in Trip's eyes. "You did what you thought was right," he said.

Malcolm felt a flicker of hope, which lasted only as long as the brief pause.

"And so did I," Trip added harshly. "You've got to stop actin' as if you can be above rules just because you like playin' hero, Lieutenant," he continued in a command tone that made Malcolm automatically straighten his shoulders. "…And if an official reprimand on your _spotless_ record is what it takes to make you understand that, so be it."

So that's what Trip thought that he, Malcolm, resented. Reed clenched his fists, and was again sharply reminded of the fact that he had just come out of sickbay.

"I don't give a damn about my _spotless_ record," he growled, forgetting himself. He knew it was the truth, even though earlier, when he had nervously paced his quarters, he _had_ spared a thought about his career. "I just want you to stop treating me as if… as if our friendship never existed!"

"Friendship has nothing to do with this," Trip shot back.

"Commander..."

They both jerked their heads to the approaching Hess, who was stopped abruptly in her tracks.

"Am I interrupting something?"

"No, everything is fine," Trip ground out. "What have you got?"

"The impulse engine's damage report," Hess said, coming closer and nervously handing him a padd. "Fortunately it's not as bad as it initially seemed."

"Thank you, Lieutenant." Trip glanced at it half-heartedly; then turned to Reed. "Let's get down to _our _job, then," he said flatly. "The sooner we start, the sooner we'll be done with it."

"Yes, Sir," Reed replied just as coldly, virtually standing at attention.

TBC


	6. Chapter 6

§ 6 §

Half an hour later Malcolm was staring in dismay at the information on the screen before him. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he closed his eyes and let his chin drop to his chest. This was just great. He stole a glance at Trip, who was working quietly at the console next to his.

"Commander…" he said bleakly.

Trip flashed him a look, then a longer one; when Reed just stood there in silence, he finally stopped working and gave him his full attention. "What is it?" he asked.

Malcolm braced for what he had to do. But it was his job and besides, it was probably time to put his old shields to use again, before they got too rusty.

'_I've built walls, a fortress steep and mighty, that none may penetrate…'_ - A damn good song, that was.

"The overload was caused by a series of commands given from work station three," he said calmly, his eyes never leaving Trip's.

For a moment neither said anything.

"That's impossible – I was workin' from that station!" Trip burst out.

Malcolm bit his lip. "Have a look yourself," he said, shifting to make room in front of the screen.

Trip hesitated a moment, then joined him at the console and studied the data that was displayed there. His features hardened. "This is all wrong," he argued. "I was workin' on recalibratin' levels for the warp drive."

"Perhaps you made a mistake…" Malcolm knew full well how unlikely that would be for the Chief Engineer of Enterprise; virtually impossible, in fact. But he wouldn't consider any other explanation.

Trip looked at him with narrowed eyes. "And perhaps you faked this data to get back at me," he snarled. "That's why you asked to check _my_ work…"

"Commander, I'd never do such a base thing!" Malcolm bit back, appalled at Trip's accusation. "I asked to check your work because, this being an investigation of sorts, it would be bloody illogical, not to mention irregular for you to check your own work!" he added, his voice becoming louder and angrier with every word.

"Well, there is no way in the world I'd make _that_ big of a mistake," Trip shouted back.

Malcolm cast a look around: blessedly Hess was nowhere within hearing range; in fact she was nowhere in sight. They seemed to have scared everyone out of Engineering. He glared at Trip, who glared back at him.

"I must agree with you, Commander," Reed said in as cold and collected a tone as he could muster. "But that can only mean you overloaded the impulse manifold willingly." He straightened his shoulders, trying to bring his hammering pulse under control. "I have a duty to report this to the Captain," he added gravely. "I think it would be best if you left Engineering until we fully understand what happened."

"Look you, you're in no position to tell me what to do!"

Trip took an aggressive step forward, hand raised, and Reed, not wanting to start a fight, fell back hard against the console, hissing as he jarred his injured leg. It was all a bit too much, and he shut his eyes against the sudden dizziness, breathing heavily to fight it. He fully expected to feel Trip's hand come down hard on him, and when it didn't he risked a glance, blinking.

Trip seemed frozen. "I didn't mean… wasn't going to…" His voice trailed, and a fleeting frown knit his brow.

Malcolm found his balance again, still grimacing in pain. "I'm fine," he grunted.

Trip's features hardened once more. "Right," he said, scowling. "Of course you are. I'll be in my quarters, then." He left without another word.

Malcolm watched him walk away. His heart skipped a beat and his gut clenched, but he closed his eyes tight and willed himself to turn to stone.

'_I am a rock, I am an island. And a rock feels no pain, and an island never cries.' - _Yes, a damn good song.

* * *

As Reed exited the turbo lift onto the bridge he was still shocked, and racking his brain trying to find a logical explanation for what he had discovered. Despite his recent fall-out with Trip, he still couldn't believe the man could have overloaded the impulse manifold – by mistake or otherwise. But the data was irrefutable. He raised his eyes to find Hoshi staring at him. He must be a sight, judging from her look.

"Ensign," he greeted her, feigning normality.

Hoshi gave him a hesitant smile. "Lieutenant. Up and about already?"

She made it sound as if he really didn't look like he should be. Even Travis turned to shoot him a look at her words, although he still flashed his trademark white-teeth greeting. Before he could answer, T'Pol materialised from the situation room.

"Mr. Reed, I thought you were going to examine the data in Engineering," she said.

Malcolm pursed his lips. "I have," he answered. "Is the Captain in his ready room?"

"Yes."

"Perhaps you should join us too, Subcommander," Malcolm said, after a moment of consideration.

T'Pol raised her eyebrows and tilted her head ever so slightly. "Very well. I was just about to go see the Captain myself."

* * *

"Are you certain about this?" Archer was beginning to develop a nasty headache. _What next? _He thought grimly.

"Sir, with all due respect, I wouldn't be telling you if I weren't," Reed replied a bit too heatedly. He took a calming breath. "I apologise, Captain," he added quietly. "That was out of line."

Archer studied his Armoury Officer. "Have a seat, Malcolm. And you too, T'Pol."

As he watched them sit down, the former gingerly the latter with grace, he said, "Commander Tucker would never intentionally damage our engines." His eyes searched Malcolm's and locked with them. "That much I'm sure of." He was surprised to see Reed visibly relax, as if the confidence of his tone and words had taken a huge weight off his shoulders.

"Captain, I agree," Malcolm said after a short pause, shaking his head. "The only explanation I am willing to consider is that the Commander made a mistake."

In her understated tone and stringent logic, T'Pol went on to say what all of them must have been thinking: "A rather serious mistake, one that Commander Tucker, as a rule, would never make."

"But no one is infallible," Archer reasoned. "And lately our Chief Engineer has been… under strain."

He was going to say _upset_, but corrected himself at the last moment. A glance at his Armoury Officer told him the man had read through his effort to deflect the arrow. Reed looked truly miserable.

"Malcolm," Archer said firmly. "Whatever is going on between you and Commander Tucker, none of this is your fault. I want you to try and find out what happened with the last engine system check, why it was off. There is still that to clear."

"Yes, Sir." Reed stood up but didn't make any move to leave.

"Lieutenant?" Archer enquired.

"Captain, may I have a word with you?" Shooting an apologetic glance at T'Pol he added, "In private, Sir?"

Archer allowed the smallest frown to crease his brow. "Of course. T'Pol, will you excuse us?"

She tilted her head compliantly. "Captain, before I leave… our sensors suddenly seem able to give us some limited readings of the ship. I will keep you informed of what I find."

Both men's attention shifted to her. "That's strange," Archer said pensively. "Keep the situation closely monitored. I wouldn't want any surprises now that we are dead in the water."

T'Pol gave a nod and left, and Archer turned to Reed. "What's on your mind, Malcolm?" he enquired.

"Captain, I'm afraid I let my anger have the better of me, with the Commander," Malcolm said in a hollow voice, standing rigidly in front of the desk. He lowered his eyes. "He… accused me of faking the data, and I got upset. I just couldn't think straight any more. I suggested he stay out of Engineering until we determined what had happened, as if..." He broke off; then concluded, "As if I actually suspected him of foul play."

"_Suggested_?" Archer asked with a grimace.

Malcolm raised his gaze to meet that of his Captain. "Told him to," he admitted. "I am sorry, Sir."

Archer leaned back in his chair. He could well imagine Trip's reaction. "How did he take it?" he asked, not really sure he wanted to know.

"Not well," Reed replied grimly with a shake of his head. He opened his mouth to add something else then seemed to think better of it. "He complied," he finally murmured.

Archer regarded Reed while he considered what he should say. Trip had been provocative from the moment Malcolm had set foot in Engineering, that was a fact. But Malcolm hadn't pulled back. And even if Reed had been put in charge of investigating the cause of the overload, it seemed a bit excessive of him not to think twice before treating Trip as a saboteur and booting him out of his domain.

Well, all Archer knew was that this stupidity had to finish, and soon. Tucker and Reed were two of finest officers he had ever known; he needed them to work together, not against each other, for heaven's sake!

"The Commander said he was going to be in his quarters," Reed's hollow voice added.

"All right. I'll take it from here, Lieutenant," Archer replied. Malcolm looked such a wreck that he didn't have the heart to lecture him. Besides, he knew him well enough to be sure that he was already beating himself up for this and everything that had happened since their away mission the day before.

"Thank you, Sir." Reed nodded and turned to leave.

"Malcolm," Archer stopped him. "I fear I might have underestimated your need to recover properly before returning to duty; and was a bit too persuasive in convincing the Doctor."

"Captain, I assure you that…"

Archer raised a hand. "All I'm asking is that before you get to work again, you to pass by sickbay for a check-up, get a good meal, and take a four-hour rest - in that precise order," he said in a conciliatory tone. Then he added innocently, "Or else your freedom is revoked and you'll return to Phlox's care."

To his credit, Reed didn't even flinch. He briefly looked to be considering his options, then nodded again and left.

TBC


	7. Chapter 7

§ 7 §

Trip paced his quarters like a caged animal, unable to find peace. Like mist in the rising sun, his anger had thinned just enough to make him see what lay beyond it – utter confusion. His behaviour in Engineering had been appalling. First he had provoked Malcolm, then accused him of something he knew the Lieutenant would never do, and finally he'd very nearly hit the man – a fellow officer, not to mention his friend. But was Malcolm still his _friend_? Or rather: was _he_ still a friend to Malcolm? He didn't know any more. Every time he thought of him he felt a surge of irritation, anger actually, which he couldn't quite explain – he couldn't _really_ believe one act of insubordination could cause this rift between them. A growl of frustration rumbled from his throat. Well, this was all Reed's fault, anyway. Damn his stubbornness! If he hadn't been so pigheaded…

Trip pursed his lips – there was the anger again. But he had every reason to be pissed off, hadn't he? The man always thought he knew better, and this time that had gone too far.

Stopping abruptly in the middle of the small room, Trip turned to his desk and looked at the time: he'd been in his quarters for less than twenty minutes and it already felt like hours. If only he could... A sudden thought struck him. _After all,_ _I only agreed to keep out of Engineering_, he reasoned. Clenching his jaw, he strode to the door and punched the command to open it; then he stepped out and walked briskly to the turbo lift.

* * *

It wasn't as if he didn't understand the Captain's concern for his well-being, Reed thought as he made his way to sickbay. If he looked half as bad as he felt, it was a wonder Archer hadn't ordered him off duty altogether. His injuries weren't really bothering him much; just a dull pain, nothing to worry about. But the tension of the last day and a half had built up to the point that he was physically and emotionally drained. Perhaps a good meal and four hours of sleep weren't such a bad idea after all. As for the visit to sickbay, though…

Malcolm unconsciously slowed down as the infirmary doors appeared at the end of the corridor, hating having to go through the well-know routine. He knew it by heart. 'How are you feeling, Lieutenant? Any pain, dizziness, headaches? Let's have a look at those injuries, shall we? When was the last time you had a proper meal, slept… failed your duties, disappointed a person dear to you? I recommend you rest, not use your arm, keep off your leg… learn to obey a direct order, avoid getting people mad enough that they want to trash you and accuse you of being deceitful…'

Malcolm stopped a few steps from the doors and brought his fists to his temples. _Don't do this to yourself_, he reproached. Bloody hell, he was reverting to the sorry state he had been in before leaving home. Yes, four hours of sleep will do him a world of good. He clenched his jaw. _Sooner in, sooner out_, he reminded himself; pushing forward, he raised a hand and triggered the doors open.

* * *

Trip walked the corridor on F deck with self-assurance. Piece of cake. He had paged Kelby and the engineer was going to meet him in the transporter room. 'The Captain wants me to transport down and retrieve the shuttlepod', he had told him. Kelby had no reason to doubt his words.

The corners of Trip's mouth curved upwards as he turned the final corner. He was going to learn everything there was to learn about that ship's engine, and this time there would be no Mr. Stubborn to get in the way. The Capt'n might be a little mad, but Jon would forgive him, once he showed him the detailed specs of an alien warp drive. He might even get Enterprise to warp 6, or more, for all they knew. And he'd be back before anyone could notice, anyway: thanks to a little twiddling here and there, the bridge instruments would not pick up his transport – there were few things the Chief Engineer could not do, even when booted out of Engineering.

"Sir," a voice greeted him. Its owner and unaware accomplice was already standing behind the transporter's console.

"Hey, there, Kelby," Trip replied in his friendliest voice. "Got the coordinates right? I wouldn't want to end up re-materialisin' inside a rock or somethin'," he joked.

"Don't worry, Sir," Kelby said with a smile that held nonetheless a small measure of concern. "I know how to work this machine." He smirked. "At least in theory," he added softly. "I never actually did this before."

"Relax," Trip reassured him. "There is nothin' to it. You'll do just fine." He climbed on the transporter pad and nodded his confident 'go ahead' to the man.

"Shouldn't we follow standard procedure and inform the bridge that you are ready for transport?" Kelby asked with a small frown.

Trip raised his eyebrows. "What – did you take lessons from Lieutenant Reed?" he said in a playful tone. "No need," he added. "The Capt'n knows, and that's all that matters."

Kelby seemed appeased. "If you say so, Commander." Lowering his gaze, he concentrated on the levers before him, and a moment later Trip felt the tingling sensation that signified his molecules were being turned into a data stream.

* * *

"Excellent," Phlox exclaimed, examining the healing burn mark on Malcolm's arm. "No ointment can beat my osmotic eels for the treatment of light phase beam injuries," he added gleefully.

Sitting in his skivvies on a biobed, Malcolm tore his eyes away from the ugly bruise-like spot that reminded him of his vulnerability, and shifted them to the Denobulan doctor. Sometimes he wished he could borrow a little of the man's optimism and – yes – perhaps give him in return a bit of his own pessimism. He really thought both their personalities could benefit from such an exchange.

While Phlox went about dressing his leg wound, he debated whether he should approach him with his doubts or not. He had forcefully tried to push them away, wanting so much to shut everything and everyone out, but without much success. His old armour didn't seem to fit him any more, he reflected, and to his surprise the idea almost made him smile – whether because of the picture it conjured up or in relief, he couldn't tell.

"Doctor," he blurted out, wondering how he should go about it. "There is something I need to ask you."

Reed heard the gravity in his own voice and Phlox must have too, for the doctor suddenly stopped and straightened up to look at him. "Yes?" he prompted when it sounded like the pause was going to stretch indefinitely.

"It's… about Commander Tucker," Malcolm finally said.

"Hmm?" Phlox acknowledged, shaping the sound like a question. He looked interested.

"He's been… acting strangely," Reed went on, searching for the right words.

"How so?"

Malcolm knew there were no two ways about it, so he spit it out. "He's been bitter, resentful, hostile and aggressive," he said with a grimace.

There was a small pause during which Reed realised he was holding his breath.

"Without reason?" Phlox asked quietly, looking him straight in the eye. When Malcolm didn't answer, he went on, "I seem to remember the Commander complaining about a certain Lieutenant disregarding direct orders."

Reed set his jaw in a determined expression. "Without reason," he said firmly. "The Trip I know wouldn't hold a grudge, let alone for this long, wouldn't be so determined to punish a friend." He was on a roll now. "Bloody hell, he almost…"

_Damn!_

"Almost what, Mr. Reed?" Phlox prompted again, gently.

Malcolm sighed. "He accused me of lying and came close to hitting me," he admitted in a hollow voice.

"Uhm, I must agree with you," Phlox said after a moment, raising his eyebrows and sounding uncharacteristically concerned. "Our Commander Tucker would not normally do that." He started dressing Malcolm's arm, but his attention seemed no longer solely on his job.

Reed watched him work for a few moments, feeling relief washing over him now that he had unburdened his conscience – and to think that it was Trip who was always bugging him not to keep everything inside.

But there was still a doubt he needed to voice. "Doctor," he said. "As you know the Commander was unconscious on that ship… isn't it possible that something happened then, which triggered this reaction in him?"

Phlox finished what he was doing in silence. Then he looked up and met Malcolm's eyes. "When the two of you re-materialised, Lieutenant, one of you was wounded and unconscious, the other was awake and in one piece, only a little confused," he eventually said. "Obviously you were my first priority. Of course I did check the Commander too, but…" He brought a hand to his chin. "Perhaps I shall do so again," he added gravely.

He studied his patient. "Mr. Reed," he said in his "let's-get-down-to-business" tone. "I know I agreed with the Captain that you could go back on duty. But I specified _light_ duty. Your wounds are healing nicely and we don't want to spoil my osmotic eels' job, so…"

"You are perfectly right, Doctor," Malcolm interrupted him, thoroughly enjoying the stunned look that painted itself on the Denobulan's face. "I am going to get something inside my stomach and then some sleep."

Phlox almost looked ready to order him inside the imaging chamber, to see what was wrong with him. But instead he grinned his Cheshire cat grin and said, "Excellent, Mr. Reed. I'm glad you are beginning to learn."

Malcolm slid off the biobed, looking forward to witnessing the effect of his next words - well, he had a reputation to defend.

"Actually, I'm just following the Captain's orders," he said, shamelessly pleased to see the Doc's satisfied expression change abruptly. He began to pull on his uniform.

"Then I'm glad you're _obeying_ them," Phlox replied meaningfully.

Reed froze, his playful mode instantly gone. _Touché_.

"Right," he said deadpan; then got into the sleeves and pulled up the front zipper. "Doctor…" He hesitated. He knew Phlox was a stickler for doctor-patient confidentiality, and he couldn't in all honesty blame him. "Would you… let me know if you find anything wrong, after you examine the Commander?" he asked.

"Depending on what I find," Phlox replied. "I can't promise you."

"Fair enough."

Reed paused again. "How is Rostov?" he asked, glancing towards the privacy curtain hiding a biobed a few metres away.

"It could have been worse. Still, burns are painful and need careful treatment." A frown creased Phlox's brow. "Now that I think of it, Mr. Tucker hasn't come to visit, nor commed to enquire after him… it's not like the Commander at all," he murmured.

"You'll find Trip in his quarters." With a last worried glance at the Doctor, Malcolm finally left.

TBC


	8. Chapter 8

§ 8 §

Trip re-materialised close to the shuttlepod, just as expected. _Good boy, Kelby. _He blinked a couple of times and checked himself over – everything was in the right place, it seemed.

_First things first_. He walked to the pod and punched in the code to open the hatch. Good thing Mr. Stubborn had insisted on adding an extra phase pistol as standard equipment on board the shuttlepods. Even if Reed, as he understood, had taken down some of that alien ship's automated defences, there might be more. He climbed in and opened a storage compartment under a rear bench: there it was. He grabbed the weapon and quickly went through the other supplies, taking a flashlight and the tool-box. Time for his little exploring. A shiver of excitement ran through him as he crossed the few metres to the other vessel.

Taking a careful step inside the alien ship, Trip was surprised to see that it was dimly lit. There hadn't been any light that he could remember. He had come round shortly before being transported off it, and couldn't recall much about that handful of moments. Only that Malcolm had lain slumped beside him and that the Captain's voice had been crackling through the communicator fallen from Reed's hand. His eyes went of their own accord to the dark spot on the floor where Malcolm's blood had pooled and something stirred inside him. For once it wasn't anger, and although he couldn't put his finger on it, it was just as upsetting.

Trip swallowed. Even with the faint lights, this empty ship was a little eerie, and his excitement was slowly turning into wariness. But nothing worrisome was showing on his scanner. Checking his surroundings carefully, he noticed fire-fight scorch marks and saw the damage inflicted by Reed's true aim on what he supposed was some sort of firing device.

Grabbing his weapon more tightly, he ventured on, sliding flat along the wall. Not all the corridors were lit, he realised. Only… hmm, only the ones that would lead him right to the engine room, it seemed: despite this ship's confusing lay-out he could remember quite well in which direction Engineering was - survival training had its merits. One tentative step after the other, he finally reached his goal.

"Welcome back. We were waiting for you."

Trip jumped a mile.

* * *

"Captain, our sensors are being blocked again. It is peculiar." T'Pol looked as perplexed as she might allow herself to show. "However, from the readings I was able to take earlier, I can tell you that there are indeed active power signatures on that ship, as Lieutenant Reed reported. They are rather weak. I couldn't detect any biosigns, but the fact that a seemingly dead ship suddenly has power running through her would indicate that it is simply a matter of our instruments not being able to pick the biosigns up."

Archer sighed and stood from his chair to go look out of the porthole. Seeing a planet from orbit was always a spectacular view, especially one so lush and diverse in its geography. It looked so much like Earth. Being able to detect from up there mountain ranges and plains, forests and water expanses was something that had him in awe, even after so many years. If only beauty went hand in hand with harmlessness. He let the sight distract him momentarily from the problem at hand, tired of having to solve so many all at once.

But T'Pol's questioning voice didn't let him escape for long. "Captain?"

"Have Hoshi try and hail that ship," he said, turning to her. "I'm not going to send anybody else down there without a good reason," he said firmly. "If someone is indeed on board that vessel they didn't exactly roll out a red carpet for us."

"It may be a while before Ensign Sato can do that. Instruments on the bridge have been malfunctioning and Lieutenant Kelby is adjusting them."

"What?" Archer exclaimed irritably, grimacing and jerking his head sideways. "What the hell is going on, is there _anything_ on this ship that isn't broken?"

"Captain…"

"Ah, forget it, T'Pol. I'm sorry. Shouldn't take this out on you." Turning all the way to face her, Archer took a calming breath. "Just tell Hoshi to do _whatever_ she can, _whenever_ she can," he said resignedly. "I'll be away from the bridge for a while. Keep an eye on things." With that, he left his ready room and a perplexed Vulcan behind.

* * *

"Who the hell are you?" Trip asked, flattening himself against the wall and looking frantically around as he tried to pinpoint the source of the voice. It had sounded metallic, undoubtedly the result of a translation device.

"It doesn't matter who I am -- who we are," the voice replied, not unkindly. "All that matters is that you are back, as expected."

_As expected? _"What's that supposed to mean? Can you read minds or somethin'?" Even though the voice was gentle enough, the message it conveyed was truly worrying, and Trip shuddered.

"Read minds?"

There was a pause. It seemed the voice was puzzled.

"In a way we did read your mind, yes. When we scanned you. We read your mind and the mind of the one that was with you. We found yours to be what we were looking for. So we gave you the imprint. Not every mind can receive the imprint. The mind of other one cannot. He carried you away and we were unable to stop him. The imprint, however, was on you."

Trip felt his breathing quicken and made an effort to keep it under control. Imprint? What was this voice talking about? Whatever it was, he didn't like the sound of it one bit.

"What does this… _imprint_ do, exactly?"

"Make you want to stay here; make you want to come back, and follow your nature."

A few things were starting to fall into place. Trip frowned. "Well, I don't really want to stay here right now, so I reckon your imprint is not all that reliable," he blurted out.

_Stupid ass, what did you have to say that for?_

"It is fading. But we will give you a second one, soon." This time the voice had a more serious edge to it.

Trip felt his heart thump against his ribcage. "Why do you want me here?" He braced for the answer.

"Because we need you. You have a curious mind, and you are skilled at fixing things. You are going to make this ship fly again."

Trip felt relief, and then rage swell through him like a wave. "You don't need to scan us, and render us unconscious, and shoot us, and… _imprint_ us for that!" he growled. "You just need to ask!"

There was another pause. It was a longer one. Trip's heart was now in his throat. This was like being alone at night in a castle with a family of ghosts.

"Hey, are you still there?" he shouted, his voice shaking despite his efforts to remain calm. "Why the hell don't you stop hidin' and show yourselves?"

"_Ask_," the voice repeated in its impassive, mechanical cadence, ignoring Trip's question. "You mean expect you to work for us without any imprint. Not practicable. Subjects come to steal our technology and leave. Subjects must either be imprinted or eliminated. No subject suitable for imprinting ever came before you. No subject ever escaped elimination, only the other one with you: we have been on this planet for a long time and the ship's power levels are low: our weapons were unable to eliminate him."

"Well, fix your damn ship yourselves," Trip muttered under his breath, suddenly glad that Malcolm had _escaped elimination_ from these creeps.

"Not practicable," the voice repeated. "Our bodies are on our home world. Our central nervous systems have been exiled here as punishment. Without our bodies we cannot fix what needs to be fixed."

"What? You mean you're just… _brains_?" Trip wasn't sure he had heard correctly. Brains separated from bodies? That was inconceivable - although for having left their ears at home these guys had hearing as fine as a Vulcan's.

He bit his lip. He didn't like the sound of words like 'exile' and 'punishment'. A flurry of questions ran through his mind.

"How did you access the weapons, then, and… slide that bulkhead shut, and scan us and… imprint me?"

"We access some commands by electrical impulses. But we are limited in what we can do."

Trip swallowed. "Why were you punished? What did you do?" He asked warily. He wasn't sure he wanted to hear the answer.

As it happened, he didn't have to. There was a blinding flash and his head started to spin. As he slowly crumpled to the floor, as darkness galloped towards him, he vaguely remembered that that's what had happened to him the first time too, when he had been on the other side of the bulkhead from Malcolm.

TBC


	9. Chapter 9

§ 9 §

Malcolm shoved another forkful of food in his mouth, wanting nothing more than to get this part of his deal over with, and collapse on his bunk. Unburdening his conscience first with the Captain and then with the Doctor had released a lot of his pent up tension, leaving him as limp as a wet mop. He had dragged himself to the mess hall and grabbed the first plate he had found, without even stopping to check what was on it. It was only after he had started chewing on his first morsel that he had realised it was, of all things, that awful resequenced meatloaf Trip liked so much.

"Interesting choice of food, Lieutenant…"

Malcolm sighed silently. He was in no mood to be in anyone's company, let alone someone like Travis, who couldn't keep silent for more than twenty seconds in a row.

But much as Reed desired privacy, his decency wouldn't allow him to send Mayweather away. He craned his neck to look up at the tall man. "You think so, Ensign?" he slurred.

Travis gave a hint of a smile. "Hmm, I'm sure a psychologist could read something into it," he said playfully.

"Other than I'm too bloody tired for coherent thinking?" Reed replied with a short breathy laugh. He picked up a forkful of veggies and made a fast mental calculation of how many more bites separated him from sleep. He glanced back up at Travis. "For heaven's sake, Travis, either sit down or take a few steps back. I'll break my neck if I have to keep looking at you like this."

Mayweather flashed a grin and complied, dropping heavily on the next seat. He was silent for a moment as he squirted ketchup on his fries, and Malcolm prayed that just for once he would see his exhaustion and understand his current need for peace and quiet. No such luck.

"Permission to speak freely?" Travis asked, much too soon.

Reed closed his eyes briefly; then raised them squarely on his younger colleague. He was going to say 'not right now, Ensign' in his Armoury Officer voice, but then again… He had a fairly good idea what Travis wanted to speak about. Malcolm had never liked rumours, and if this was a chance to nip one in the bud, he was all for letting everyone know the truth and put their minds at rest.

"Go ahead," he murmured.

"Is it true what they say… that Commander Tucker has put you on report?"

"He had his reasons," Reed replied tersely, aware that his gaze had turned to ice.

Travis didn't seem to be affected. "No, he didn't." he said gravely. "Not as far as I'm concerned. You saved his life and…"

"I'm not ready to discuss a higher-ranking officer's decisions, Ensign," Reed interrupted him stiffly. "And neither should you."

"I'm sorry, Sir. You're right," Mayweather said after a beat, but his voice was more sad than contrite.

After a moment Malcolm shifted his eyes to his plate again.

"I can see how this is hurting you," Travis's low voice said. "Just wanted you to know, that's all."

Malcolm looked up. The words had touched a string in him. "Thank you, Ensign," he said quietly. He wanted to add more, but his natural reserve wouldn't let him. And he just couldn't think straight any more; so, counting on Travis's understanding and disregarding the last few scraps of food left on his plate, he stood up, took his leave and left, craving for his four hours of unconsciousness.

* * *

Archer had left the bridge to go to Trip's quarters, but when he was in the turbo lift he changed his mind. He needed an hour or so to himself; dammit, the pressure of the past couple of days pretty well entitled him to it. One hour, alone with Porthos: no Reed with his dark mood, no Trip with his stubborn anger, no T'Pol with her inflexible logic and imperturbable voice, no alien ships, no broken engines, no malfunctioning instruments. Just him and Porthos, and perhaps a bit of cheese for extra comfort.

"Easy boy," he told his pet with a chuckle, entering his quarters and trying to curb the dog's show of affection. _At least you don't come to me with more problems_, he thought, as he dropped onto his bed and engaged in a playful tussle with his beagle.

* * *

Trip wiped a hand across his sweaty brow. This was a dream come true. Very clever indeed, the way these aliens travelled the stars. Crouching in front of an open panel, he studied the problem at hand and reached for his tool box. The ship had been obviously disabled to fly; but it shouldn't take him all that long to learn all of its mysteries and get it back in working order. Fascinating! A sudden frown creased his brow: that word… someone used to say that word often. With a shrug of his shoulders he grabbed the hyperspanner and got down to work.

* * *

"I told you he'd be back."

"Yes, but he had to be imprinted again. And you know as well I do that each time the effect is stronger but doesn't last quite as long."

"He is exceptionally skilled. He'll have the engine fixed well before the imprint fades."

* * *

Phlox had wanted to track down Commander Tucker right away, after Reed had left. But a moan from Rostov had summoned him to the man's bedside, where he had found that his condition had worsened. He was running a fever and was obviously in pain, despite the meds coursing through his bloodstream. So Phlox had busied himself with his patient, and time had flown by.

Now, as he once again checked the monitors near Rostov's biobed, he tried to put his nagging conscience at ease. He _had_ checked the Commander after he and Reed had re-materialised. He clearly remembered that after assessing Reed's condition, while his medics had laid the Lieutenant on a gurney and carried him off to sickbay, he had taken thorough readings of the dazed Commander with his medical scanner, and questioned him about what had happened on the alien ship. Though slightly confused and clearly irritated, Tucker had answered to the point, which had been reassuring. Reed had been bloodied and unconscious, and Phlox had logically ordered the Engineer to rest, and gone off to tend to the Lieutenant.

Phlox adjusted the flow of Rostov's IV drip and shook his head. Still… he had to admit Tucker's behaviour, from what he'd been told, was quite odd. He pursed his lips - time to see the Commander. Perhaps he'd just take a walk to his quarters, to make this check-up a bit more informal, seeing that Tucker had been touchy lately.

* * *

"Phlox to T'Pol"

T'Pol pressed the button on the Captain Chair's armrest and opened the comm. link

"Yes, Doctor."

"Ah – Subcommander, I was wondering if you could help me locate Commander Tucker."

For once there was nothing jovial about Phlox's voice, and T'Pol almost frowned. "The Commander is in his quarters, Doctor," she replied.

Kelby's head appeared from under Hoshi's console, where the engineer had been fixing something, and T'Pol wondered briefly why the man was staring at her like that.

"That's what I was told," Phlox replied. "But he is not there. Would you please check his whereabouts with internal sensors?"

"Subcommander…" Kelby said hesitantly.

T'Pol raised a delicate finger and gave him one of her famous looks, with eyebrows fully up. "I'm speaking to the Doctor, Lieutenant," she told him, not unkindly.

"Subcommander," another voice sounded, this time from Tactical. "I'm reading power surges on the planet."

T'Pol turned right, to the young ensign manning Reed's station. "The ship?" she asked.

"Yes, Ma'am," Reed's replacement replied.

"T'Pol?" Phlox prompted through the comm.

"Subcommander…" Kelby repeated, and something in his voice pleaded attention.

T'Pol was glad she was Vulcan. Impassivity was exactly what she needed right now.

"Stand by, Doctor." She turned to the man who had been squatting on her left and now stood up to his full height. "What is it, Mr. Kelby?"

"Subcommander, I thought you were aware of the fact that Commander Tucker transported down to the planet to retrieve the shuttlepod…"

T'Pol stared at him for a beat, then stood from the Captain's chair and went to her station. Her instruments soon confirmed that Commander Tucker was indeed no longer aboard Enterprise.

Kelby was looking at her with a concerned expression.

"When did the Commander leave, Lieutenant?" she enquired.

"About an hour ago, Ma'am," Kelby replied tautly. "He asked me to… He said the Captain… Well, he said he knew about it," he drew out, sounding like he was beginning to think he had done something wrong.

"Ma'am, I believe that alien ship's engines are… coming online?" the ensign at Tactical wondered, looking up in surprise from the readings in front of him.

With composed haste, T'Pol crossed the bridge to the other side. She bent over the tactical station and stared at the blips there. She reached for the nearest comm. link.

"T'Pol to Captain Archer."

TBC


	10. Chapter 10

§ 10 §

_What the hell?_ Archer could barely restrain himself from swearing aloud as he took in the information T'Pol was conveying in her unruffled voice.

"Can you read his biosigns?" he asked in concern.

T'Pol studied her information. "No, Captain," she said, looking up at him. "What I can read, however, is that that alien ship's engines are being powered up. It is logical to think the Commander may have something to do with that."

"Hail that ship." Archer ordered sharply.

Kelby indicated to Hoshi that she could use her station, and the Ensign quickly sat down and pressed her earpiece into her right ear, looking distressed but determined.

"Sorry, Sir, no response," she said quietly after a moment.

* * *

Trip studied the instruments before him with open satisfaction. Getting this baby to cooperate had been easier than expected. Lights were blinking and the wonderful hum of engines coming online filled the room. He heaved a deep breath, proud of a job well done.

* * *

"We will need all the power for the engines; we won't be able to keep shielding the ship from their scanners."

"We will shield only the engine room. And power up any weapons we can."

"The aliens will detect us."

"They won't do us any harm. We have their crewmember."

* * *

"Archer to Lieutenant Reed."

Malcolm felt as if he was falling, and his heart missed a beat. His eyes fluttered open. He was in his quarters, on his bunk and…

"Lieutenant Reed, respond…"

…this was no bloody dream. That was Archer's voice. And it sounded tense. In one swift movement he shoved the light blanket aside and propelled himself off the bed. Groping in the semi-darkness, he stumbled to the comm. link.

"Go ahead, Captain."

"I need you on the bridge, Malcolm. On the double."

"Be right there, Sir," Reed replied, frowning. It sounded like an emergency. Good thing he'd collapsed on the bed in his uniform.

* * *

"Sir, she's lifting off the surface," the ensign at Tactical said.

Archer clenched his teeth. Was Trip inside that damn ship? It seemed like the only possibility, since his biosigns were nowhere on the planet.

"Captain, our scanners can now penetrate the vessel again," T'Pol added. "Or, to be more precise, some of it - the engine room is still shielded. I am reading 5 biosigns, but Commander Tucker's is not one of them."

A high-pitched voice from the right said, "Some of their weapons have been powered up..."

Reed's man sounded a little frantic, and Archer wished the Lieutenant would hurry. The Ensign was young and inexperienced, and he needed his best man right now.

Just then the turbo lift opened and Malcolm rushed onto the bridge. He stopped abruptly in front of Archer, who had turned to face him, and his eyes silently questioned his Captain. Archer met them squarely.

"The alien vessel is taking off," he informed the Lieutenant, getting down to business. "Engines and some of her weapons have suddenly come online. Commander Tucker transported down to the planet about one and a half hours ago without permission, and we cannot pinpoint his biosigns. We believe him to be aboard that ship. In fact, we think he was the one responsible for getting her flying again. T'Pol is reading five biosigns on board."

Archer could almost see the wheels turning inside Reed's head. His clear blue-grey eyes were still fixed on his own, but they had narrowed slightly and the man's focus was obviously inward. With a short nod he then moved off to his station, his walk marred by a slight though still noticeable limp. The young ensign slipped out of the seat with undisguised relief painted on his face.

"They are armed with high yield particle weapons, Sir," Malcolm informed him calmly, after studying his readings a moment. "Nothing we cannot take on, but still, it would be best to avoid a fire fight, if the Commander is indeed on board that ship."

Travis turned wide-eyed to him. "Lieutenant, we're dead in the water and our engines are still off-line," he blurted out. "We couldn't engage that ship even if we wanted to…"

"Thank you for reminding us of that, Ensign," Archer said through gritted teeth.

"Sorry, Sir," Mayweather murmured, refocusing on his own, useless console.

Archer knew he had been a little harsh, but this was no time to dwell on it. He saw Reed's face twitch slightly, as if disgusted with himself for not remembering such a trifling detail as the fact that they could go nowhere. The Captain reached for the comm. link on his arm rest.

"Archer to Lieutenant Hess."

"Hess here."

"How long before we have _any_ engines in working order?" he asked, his eyes locked with Malcolm's.

"Five or six hours for warp drive; less for impulse – I'd say an hour or so."

_Too damn much time_. He could see Reed was thinking the same

"The ship is about to leave the atmosphere," T'Pol said, a hint of stress finally entering her voice.

Reed jumped to his feet. "Sir, let me transport on board that vessel."

"And risk losing two officers instead of one?" Archer replied, hating the hoarseness in his voice.

"Respectfully, Captain, if that ship jumps to warp we risk never being able to find it again," Malcolm insisted. "In five or six hours she could be anywhere!"

Archer considered what Reed's words meant. Specifically, losing his Chief Engineer. No, dammit, losing his _friend_.

"The Captain is right, Lieutenant," T'Pol's voice said. "It is an illogical course of action."

"Can't we transport those 5 biosigns out?" Archer asked. Something about Mohammed and the mountain had suddenly popped into his mind.

"Negative, Captain," T'Pol replied after a tense moment. "The biosigns are… odd. We cannot seem to lock on to them."

"Sir." Reed's eyes had never left his Captain's. "Even if I can't disable the vessel, I'll probably be able to keep in contact with Enterprise, relay you her course…"

Still Archer hesitated. He hated choices that involved people's lives. He hated leaving Trip to his destiny, knowing it would be damn hard to find that ship again once she went to warp. He hated letting Reed go on a rescue mission that sounded more like a suicide one. Maybe he should go instead. But a ship's Captain shouldn't do the Armoury Officer's job. Reed had the training, Reed stood a better chance of success. He hated being Captain sometimes.

"Captain…" Malcolm's voice was vibrant and tense. "In a few minutes that ship will be out of transporter range. We don't have much time."

Archer pursed his lips and studied him. All of a sudden he could see right through his eyes, all of a sudden the man's shields were down, just like those of the alien ship. This wasn't Lieutenant Reed speaking, though the tone was collected and professional: underneath it was Malcolm, the friend who wouldn't let go. Trip was important to him too. Trip was too important to him.

Well, Trip was important, period. "Get ready, Lieutenant," he heard himself say. _Damn, am I doing the right thing?_

Reed actually broke into a smile. The man must be nuts, he was about to embark on what may well be a one-way mission and he was smiling. But then again, this was Malcolm. Archer saw him take off like a bullet towards the turbo lift and he didn't seem to be limping any more.

"Malcolm," he called after him.

Why on earth should he feel so protective towards the fiercest member of his crew? But the answer was not all that hard to find; it had to do with Reed's reckless willingness to put his life on the line. Perhaps _generous_ was a better adjective.

Reed turned, already in the lift, his hand on the controls.

"Be careful."

"Always, Sir."

There was the incongruous grin again. And it actually looked good on Malcolm's face. Made him look almost invincible.

With a nod he pressed a button and was gone.

* * *

Malcolm's heart was racing as he rushed down the corridor to the transporter room. He knew the hammering in his chest wasn't only due to the rush of adrenaline for the impending mission; Archer's words kept echoing through his mind – _Commander Tucker transported down to the planet without permission_ – without permission. That meant Trip was indeed not himself, and although Malcolm knew this was in itself a worrisome notion, he also knew it meant the past two days were a nightmare from which he could eventually wake up.

He reached his destination and found Phlox, Kelby and Müller waiting for him.

Müller wordlessly handed him a phase pistol, stun grenades, and a few other choice 'toys' he had been told to bring. Reed holstered his pistol; then, as he was finding places in various pockets for the rest of his things, he glanced at Phlox, who seemed to be waiting for his full attention before speaking.

Malcolm dismissed Müller with a nod, and the man went away with a "Good luck, Sir." Then he shot a look in Kelby's direction: the engineer was standing behind the console, intently preparing for the delicate job of scrambling his molecules. Reed turned his back to him

"Doctor," he said in a low voice. "I don't have much time. Did you check Commander Tucker after we spoke?"

Phlox's rueful blue eyes fluttered close for one millisecond. "I was unable to. Ensign Rostov's condition worsened and…" He trailed. "No matter." He handed Reed a couple of hyposprays. "This is a mild sedative. Just in case the Commander gets… too aggressive. But please don't use it unless you find it absolutely necessary. We don't know what's wrong with Mr. Tucker."

"And this?" Malcolm asked, looking at the second of Phlox's gifts.

"That's a painkiller, Mr. Reed," the Doctor answered, looking Malcolm straight in the eye. "I haven't forgotten that you're still also my patient. This is not exactly the kind of light duty I had intended when I told the Captain that you…"

Just then T'Pol's voice came through the comm. link, saving him from the rest of Phlox's lecture.

"Mr. Reed, the ship has left the atmosphere. She's still on impulse, but we can't tell for how long. Are you ready for transport?"

"Yes, Subcommander."

Malcolm took up position on the pad, grasped his phase pistol and looked at Kelby. "Better show me what you can do, Lieutenant," he told the man, tightening the grip on his weapon.

Kelby shot a wary look at the pistol and raised his brows. "Sure thing, Sir," he said with a feeble smile. Then he turned serious. "Bring the Chief back in one piece… and yourself too."

"I'll do my best."

Reed saw Kelby's hands pull the levers and swallowed past a lump in his throat as Enterprise's safe surroundings slowly faded away.

* * *

"Subject Two has transported on board."

"The automated security system is now powered up properly. This time he won't escape elimination."

"Shall we take command of the engine?"

"Let Subject One take the ship to warp; he is very capable. The second imprint will not last for much longer, but is still strong for the moment. We'll limit our control to navigation for now."

TBC


	11. Chapter 11

§ 11 §

Malcolm had asked Kelby to transport him as close as possible to the engine room, which remained shielded and therefore inaccessible. He imagined that if Trip was on board – and he _was_ on board, he felt sure about it – that's where his friend would be. With the ship moving and Enterprise at a standstill, however, that wasn't an easy task, so he wasn't at all surprised to find himself in a nondescript corridor, dark and eerie.

As soon as he felt his body around him again, he flattened against a bulkhead and engaged all his senses on full alert. All he could hear was his fast breathing as his heart tried to escape his ribcage, and the engine's soft hum. From what he could gather, the ship was still travelling at impulse.

When he felt he could assume that he wasn't in any immediate danger, he reached for his scanner. Five biosigns, T'Pol had said. Yes, he could see them now. They were… well, _odd_, as T'Pol had put it. But the important thing was that they were quite far from his present position and not moving, at least for the moment.

He debated whether he should contact Enterprise. He would have liked to test communication with his ship, but on the other hand it was better not to attract any unnecessary attention. He would contact the bridge only if this vessel went to warp, he decided. In any case T'Pol undoubtedly saw his blip on her instruments - well, make that _hopefully_.

Refocusing on his surroundings, he began slowly to slide along the wall, heading in the direction where some faint light was filtering around a bend in the corridor.

* * *

"That was fun," Trip murmured to himself as he replaced his tools into the toolbox. He felt like a kid who had played with a brand new toy. And to think he had almost missed this!

Picking himself up from his crouched position, he stood firmly in front of the warp drive and took a deep breath. "Time to wake this baby up for good," he said aloud, his hands hovering over the commands.

* * *

Malcolm heard the humming change subtly and felt a slight vibration under his feet. He instantly knew what that meant. Clenching his jaw he reached for his communicator.

"Reed to bridge."

Archer's voice came through without delay. "We've seen that, Lieutenant. What's your status?"

"On my way to the Engine room. Met no resistance." _Yet_, he silently added. "I'll be in touch." _So to speak_.

"Understood."

Reed knew there was a lot more behind the confidence he had heard in Archer's voice.

Here, finally, was a lit corridor. Malcolm cautiously scanned it in both directions, looking for any of those blasted defence systems that had caught him by surprise the first time. Sure enough, a very suspicious power signature blinked back at him.

He smiled wickedly. Let them try and surprise him, this time. He felt good. He felt fear, yes, but fear was a powerful motivator, was almost addictive. It made him feel alive. Conquering it made him feel strong. And feeling strong was comforting, could make him temporarily forget that some people thought that in many ways he fell short of expectations.

_First rule to stay alive:_ _don't get distracted. _

Wiping a sleeve across his face, he shoved his thoughts aside and concentrated on the weight of the phase pistol in his right hand. He took a tentative step forward.

_Hum._

The beam zapped down with a crackling sound, scorching the ground mere centimetres from him. Quickly recovering his balance, in one swift move he flattened against the wall again and returned fire, smashing the hidden port and disabling the weapon inside it. He stared at the hole on the deck-plating in shock, thanking his fast reflexes. The defence system was definitely faster and more powerful than he remembered, and his memory in matters of weapons could be fully trusted. But of course… the ship was now running on more power. Courtesy of a certain Commander.

Well, this time he wasn't encumbered by Trip's limp and heavy body, nor weakened by injury, and he knew what to expect. Scanner in one hand and phase pistol in the other, he slid cautiously forward.

* * *

"Subject Two is approaching the Engine room. We cannot let him rejoin Subject One."

"Our defence systems are still inadequate to stop him."

"He has to get past the bulkhead. We almost have full power now; it won't be as easy as the last time."

"I would not put it past him to succeed. Subject Two is resilient and strong-willed."

* * *

The bulkhead. With a lot of caution, a good deal of shooting _and_ – to be honest – a bit of luck, he had got this far in one piece. Images of the last time he had been there started flashing through Malcolm's mind and he bit his lip. Here they were again; yes, _they_, because although his scanner could not penetrate that bloody partition, Malcolm knew Trip was on the other side. He just knew it. His gut feeling never lied.

_I don't suppose I'll get this bulkhead open by banging my fist on it again? _

Well, it didn't hurt to try, so he did. Nothing. He flipped his communicator open. "Commander, can you hear me?" Nothing. Just like the scanner, the comm. was blocked by the shield.

_Time to use some of my favourite toys. _

He studied his scanner again. Those five biosigns still hadn't moved, and he briefly wondered why. Surely they must have detected him? Shrugging off his worry, he reached in one of his leg pockets and got out the necessary items for the lovely little explosion he had in mind.

He must be careful, he thought as he worked quickly but with painstaking precision. The blast must be only big enough to get the bulkhead open, without risking injuring Trip. He tried to remember the space on the other side: how big it was, its layout.

When the charge was finally set, he took cover, pursed his lips and triggered the detonator. The explosion was not very loud, but the damage was just what he had expected. Reed rushed to the breach he could see in the bulkhead, and flattened himself against the wall beside it.

"Commander," he called. "Trip!"

Silence. His heart missed a beat. Could he have been wrong? Maybe Trip was not on this ship after all. Or maybe he'd been caught in the blast. He shuddered at the thought. No, the explosion had been as good a job as he had planned, damaging a limited area around it, and mostly on his side of the partition.

_Well, only one way to find out…_

"Trip, it's me, Malcolm. I'm coming in," he shouted.

The breach was big enough for a man to go through, but its ragged edges made that a dangerous operation. Malcolm eased one leg through it; then ducked to cross on the other side with his head and shoulders. He was pulling his other leg through when, with the corner of the eye, saw a shadow fall across him from behind. He pivoted to face his enemy and a hard blow on the side of his head sent him falling backwards.

As he crashed to the ground his vision blurred, and his injuries filed a vicious complaint. But there was no time to worry about them, for the form was on top of him again, hands closing on his throat.

* * *

_Trip? _Despite Malcolm's confusion, there was no mistaking the identity of his assailant.

"Trip…" he choked out, as he struggled with all his strength to ease the pressure on his airway. Trip was not as experienced as he in hand-to-hand combat, but never underestimate the advantage of surprise…

"Mr. Stubborn, you'll never learn," Trip's mocking voice hissed in his face. "But this is your final lesson."

Malcolm felt whatever strength he might have had wane fast. Oxygen deprivation. A bit like drowning. He stared into Trip's blue eyes, a few inches from his. Gone was the compassion, the curiosity, the spirit he had so often envied in them. All he could see was mad anger. It would be easy to let go, accept defeat, and slip into the embrace of death.

No, dammit! Not like this, not at the hands of a deranged friend! He had to live, for the sake of them both.

Fighting his survival instinct, which screamed he should keep trying to free his airway, Malcolm let go of Trip's hands, and they closed even more tightly around his throat. Despair swelled through him, but he ignored it and reached for the pocket where he knew he had put Phlox's hyposprays, sending a silent prayer that he would grab the right one. Blackness was closing in fast. With the last of his strength Malcolm slammed the object against Trip's arm and emptied it into his blood stream.

The reaction was instantaneous, thank God. Trip went limp on top of him, draping himself across his chest. Malcolm silently cursed as his lungs painfully fought the sudden weight that oppressed them as he tried to suck in much needed air in noisy ragged breaths. He was too weak, though, to consider pushing Trip off him. Before he found the energy to do so he lay for a good few minutes helplessly immobile, coughing and panting, dangerously close to passing out.

Still on his back, gulping in air, Reed brought a hand to his forehead; a lovely lump was forming on his left temple, undoubtedly beautified by some gaudy bruise. Finally, with a raucous groan he forced himself to a sitting position. He touched his throat. It was swollen and raw inside and out, making it painful to breathe.

He mustn't lose focus. He was still on a ship flying at warp speed away from Enterprise, together with five hostile – if reticent – aliens and a mad friend. Speaking of whom…

Malcolm turned to look at Trip, whom he had shoved unceremoniously aside. Lying on the ground beside him, he looked as peaceful and innocent as an angel. Reaching out with a hand that still trembled slightly from exertion, Malcolm felt for a pulse; he found one right away, strong and steady. Well, at least up to now neither of them had succeeded in killing the other.

There was a sudden chirp. Malcolm jumped like a spring before realising it was his communicator.

"Reed," he croaked – good heavens, did he sound awful.

"We det…cted an …plosion, Lieutenant," Archer's crackling voice said. Enterprise must be barely in range by now. "What's … status?"

"Blew up a bulkhead, found the Commander," Reed forced out of his burning windpipe.

There was the briefest of pauses. "… you two … right?" the Captain asked.

"More or less. Reed out."

He knew he'd been terse, but the situation and his throat didn't warrant lengthy conversations.

* * *

"Subject Two is more dangerous than we expected."

"He will disable the engine."

"Subject One will still stop him."

"His imprint is fading."

"He must receive another one."

"Three imprints on the same subject can be lethal."

"It's our only option."

TBC


	12. Chapter 12

§ 12 §

Malcolm studied the alien writings and commands for the umpteenth time and grimaced in frustration. Although he was a fairly decent engineer, this was… well, _Greek_ to him. How had Trip managed to get the engine up and running in such a short time?

He absentmindedly rubbed the old injury on his abused right arm as he kept looking intently for anything that might ring a bell. He almost felt like pushing levers and turning buttons at random, but he might end up destabilising the warp field and decreeing their collective demise.

"Malcolm...?"

Reed spun around wide-eyed, body tense and ready for action, surprised that the sedative he'd injected Trip with had already worn out. Phlox must have erred on the safe side. And perhaps he should have tied Trip up.

Trip blinked up at him from where he was sitting a couple of metres away. A look of confusion was slowly painting itself on his face, but Malcolm didn't dare let his guard down. Not until he was absolutely sure this was Trip and not that madman who had tried to kill him not half an hour before.

"What the hell are we doin' here?" Trip asked. Malcolm saw him frown as he studied their surroundings and Reed's clearly defensive stance.

Malcolm took in a deep breath, which triggered a coughing fit. By the time it was over, Trip had got to his feet. The Engineer took a step forward, and Reed took one backward, bringing his hand to his hip, to rest on his phase pistol. He didn't fancy stunning a friend, but if needs be…

Trip saw the movement and came to a bewildered halt. "What the hell are you doin' that for?" he stammered.

There was no time to make sure and no time to explain, if they wanted to get back to Enterprise. Malcolm tried to swallow and grimaced in pain. He had to trust his instincts again.

"Must disable this engine," he rasped out, slowly releasing his weapon. "Help me."

"What happened to your voice?" Trip asked in concern, as he hesitantly approached him.

"Not now," Malcolm wheezed, motioning him to hurry. "Help me."

Reed turned to the warp engine again, hoping he wasn't offering his back to an enemy, and a moment later felt his friend, _his friend_, come up beside him. A surge of relief swelled within him and he couldn't keep a faint smile from his lips.

_Welcome back, Commander_.

* * *

Trip's hands hovered over the controls for a moment, then went to the buttons and levers with practised confidence, while he muttered under his breath, "How the hell do I know all this?"

Malcolm shook his head as he took a step aside - he'd better leave the job entirely to Trip and concentrate on security. Something was bugging him; this was too easy. He got out his scanner again and glanced at it: five totally immobile biosigns and… a blip that meant… power surge! Without a word, he threw himself hard against Trip, just as a blinding flash struck.

Reed was disoriented. He had felt a jolt in his head, as if someone had grabbed it and given it a hard shake. His head was spinning tremendously, making him sick to the stomach. He squeezed his eyes shut. His phase pistol was taken out of his hand, and a moment later there was the sound of fire and an explosion overhead. Then silence.

"Malcolm?" Trip's voice floated from nearby. A hand came to rest on his shoulder.

"Hmm." His throat was on fire, his brain was being dissected - that's the best he could manage.

"Malcolm!" His shoulder was being shaken gently, and Trip's voice was oozing concern.

Malcolm groped blindly for Trip's arm. Grabbing it hard, he grated, "Disable the engine." He released his grip and collapsed back, while the merry-go-round took him on another, wilder turn.

"Aye, Sir," Trip replied softly in his ear. Was the bloody man mocking him?

"Don't you dare slip away from me," Trip added more loudly from further away.

* * *

"Archer to Lieutenant Hess."

Anna Hess rolled her eyes. This was the third call in two hours that she'd got from the Captain. She dearly hoped Lieutenant Reed came back with the Chief soon, because she didn't think she could stand the pressure of being acting Chief for much longer.

"Hess."

"How much longer, Lieutenant?"

Enterprise had been travelling at impulse for the past half hour, and Hess and her team were working like madmen trying to get them warp drive.

"We're getting there, Sir," she replied. "Another couple hours. Doing all we can."

"Keep me posted."

"Aye, Captain."

* * *

The string of curses that Trip was muttering would have made his ancestors proud, Reed managed to think. And he didn't like the implications. His brain now felt like it was on fire.

"Someone overrode commands," Trip's tense voice said. "We're gonna have a core breach!"

"Wha…" Malcolm's eyes flashed open and he tried to stand, only to crumple to the ground again with a moan. His balance was completely gone and he was barely able to think straight.

"You left us no option," a metallic voice echoed through the room.

Reed groaned and blinked but his vision swam so he shut his eyes again. Who the hell was this?

He heard Trip gasp. There was a pause.

Then his friend barked out, "Right -- you! Listen, you smart _brains_, you're not goin' to rejoin your bodies this way!"

Malcolm wondered if he was more out of it than he'd thought, or if Trip was.

"We have no more defence systems and no more ways to imprint anyone," the voice replied. "We would be destined to drift in space at the mercy of whoever stumbled upon us. We prefer death to that."

"I told ya, it's not necessary to shoot us or imprint us, you just got to ASK!"

Trip's voice was furious, and Malcolm tried again to get up, but fell back, unable to rise. He cursed softly. Feeling incapacitated and helpless was not something he particularly enjoyed.

"Are you listenin' to me?" Trip shouted. "Stop the damn autodestruct sequence!"

An eerie silence followed, and Malcolm could hear the sound of the engine beginning to strain.

Then he felt Trip grab his wrist and lift him; a moment later Trip's shoulder was pressing into his stomach and he groaned in protest.

"Sorry for the uncomfortable ride, but it's the best I can offer," Trip said with tense humour. "We've got a handful of minutes to find an escape pod."

_Get out of here, Lieutenant, that's an order! _"Put me down. Get out of here," Malcolm urged in his weak voice.

"Sure thing," Trip muttered. "Look who's talking…"

-- -- --

The shockwave was strong and sent the tiny vessel spinning.

_Just in time_, Trip thought when he was finally sure they wouldn't be going to pieces. A shiver ran down his spine. That had been a bit too close for comfort. He closed his eyes and heaved a deep breath. Now it was up to Enterprise to find them.

Opening them again, he turned to look at Malcolm, who had given in to oblivion way before they had boarded the escape pod. His friend looked terrible and he was afraid to let his mind wander to what had happened to him. But he was alive, they were alive. For the moment that was all that mattered. He reached for his pocket and got out his communicator.

* * *

"Captain, I'm detecting an explosion," T'Pol said in the soft tones of Vulcan dismay.

Archer turned to her sharply, as did all the other people manning the stations on the bridge.

"Where?"

"A few light years from here, in the direction we are headed."

Archer clenched his jaw. No, he wouldn't let his mind go there. Trip and Malcolm were fine, they _had_ to be. He didn't know he could live with himself if Reed's mission had ended in tragedy.

"Hoshi, send out a hail," he said, his eyes fixed straight ahead.

"Sir…"

Hoshi faltered, and Archer turned to her to bark out his order again. He was surprised to see her face relax into a smile.

"It's Commander Tucker," Hoshi said. She didn't wait any longer and put the voice through.

TBC


	13. Chapter 13

§ 13 §

Trip looked down at his hands. He was sitting on a biobed, shoulders slumped, with a medic next to him. He couldn't bring himself to look up, for on the next bed lay Malcolm, Phlox hovering about him, and if that wasn't enough, on the bed next to his, behind a privacy curtain, lay Rostov.

He'd had plenty of time to think and remember and paste things together in that escape pod; plenty of time to look at the bruises around his friend's neck and the ugly smudge on his temple. He didn't want to see them any more. Not that looking at his hands, the cause of all that, was any better. And those were only the visible injuries. He knew he'd hurt Malcolm in ways more than physical, and frankly the notion that he hadn't been himself was of little comfort.

Phlox turned and walked up to him, dismissing the medic. Just then Archer burst through the door, obviously unwilling to wait any longer for the Doctor's green light.

"Phlox?" Archer asked.

"They'll be fine," the Denobulan replied, though his voice was serious. He motioned the Captain aside.

"It appears that those aliens had a way of _imprinting_ Commander Tucker's brain. He was driven to sabotage our engines in order to give himself time to return to the ship, so he could fix her warp drive. The anger he showed towards Lieutenant Reed was a reflex of that; on an unconscious level he held him responsible for taking him away from the alien ship and preventing him from doing his job."

"What about Malcolm?" Archer asked, glancing in concern at the still form of his Armoury Officer. "What happened to him?"

"He was struck by the imprint beam by mistake, as he pushed the Commander out of harm's way. Mr. Tucker says he was told the Lieutenant's brain was not suitable for imprinting. It received a nasty shock, but from what my scans show, the effect is already fading. He'll be fine, Captain."

Archer finally heaved the sigh of relief he'd been holding. But Phlox took him by the elbow and walked another few steps away.

"Mr. Reed was… assaulted," he said in a quiet voice. "The bruises on his neck indicate someone tried to choke him, Captain. I have reason to believe it was Commander Tucker, under the effect of that imprint."

Archer nodded and they went back to Trip's side.

"Capt'n," Trip said hoarsely, straightening his shoulders. "I did some pretty horrible things, in the past couple of days."

Archer didn't say anything. He knew this was the time to listen; it would be good for Trip to unburden himself. He locked eyes with him, hoping his friend would read only understanding in them.

"I sabotaged our engines, causing Rostov's injury; scrambled the bridge instruments and went down to that ship without permission, and… Malcolm…" Trip's eyes shifted briefly to the next biobed, then he lowered them, filled with shame. "Well, I'm afraid I did too many bad things to him to list them," he managed in a voice that was barely above a whisper.

"I know," Archer said quietly. "But it wasn't you, Trip. And I'm sure Malcolm will forgive you, like everyone else."

"Sure, I just don't know if I'll forgive myself," Trip mumbled.

* * *

Evening had always been Malcolm's favourite time of the day, a time for relaxation, a time for looking inside oneself.

It was evening now, the evening after they had been rescued. He had finally been released to his quarters, and lay stretched on his bunk, savouring a newly-found feeling of safety. The ship was fine, the crew – specifically three individuals – was on the mend, no threats impended… His throat was still swollen and sore, and Phlox had told him to use his voice as little as possible, but for the rest he felt fine.

_Fine. _He smirked. Bloody little bugger of a word. There was still one thing he had to do, before he _might_ feel fine.

He got up and went to his computer. Typing fast, he wrote a short note and sent it before he could think twice. Twenty minutes later his door bell chimed.

Trip looked as if he had been summoned to the principal's office, and Malcolm felt a twinge of regret. Perhaps writing 'How about visiting Mr. Stubborn?' hadn't been the best way to break the ice.

They looked at each other for a moment; then Malcolm awkwardly stepped aside, silently motioning Trip to enter and sit down. Trip stumbled to the desk chair.

They sat in silence. Not the companionable silence they had shared so many times, though. For Malcolm it was Doctor's orders – or that's what he liked to think; for Trip he supposed it was something different.

It stretched, and stretched, and finally they ran out of things to look at, so they looked at each other, and held each other's gaze.

Language may be a fascinating thing, as Hoshi undoubtedly would maintain, but words are only one way to communicate – and not the best one, for that matter – Malcolm mulled as he read Trip's eyes like a book. He saw them wander to his neck; then search his gaze worriedly.

"Malcolm, I…" Trip started in a rush. He faltered, shaking his head lightly. "I…"

Apparently Trip was not any better than he when it came to apologising.

_Well, what the hell. Who needs words?_

Malcolm quickly reached out and put a hand on Trip's arm, stopping him. After all, if he couldn't speak, Trip shouldn't either. Just fair.

He got up and went to his closet. He was sure he still had a couple… yes.

When he offered Trip the bottle of beer, the man's eyebrows came together in a confused frown. Then his mouth relaxed in a hesitant grin. Not exactly a trademark Tucker grin, perhaps, but good enough.

They'd be fine. It would be impossible to forget, but they'd work at it and be _fine_.

Trip bit his lip. Then, raising his bottle, he offered a toast. "To friends who forgive," he choked out, blue eyes searching grey.

"Hear, hear," Malcolm croaked, with a small smile of his own, clinking.

'_I have no need of friendship, friendship causes pain…' – _Well, not such a good song after all.

The End

--


End file.
